Raising the Stakes
by ShaeTiann
Summary: The continuation of For the Right Price. Five years after leaving the Jedi Order, Obi-Wan walks a Darkened path as a mercenary and bounty hunter. With the shadow of galactic conflict looming, every answer creates another question, and every ally creates another enemy. - Next update: 12 December 2020
1. Chapter 1: Resurgence

**Chapter 1: Resurgence**

_Reformation Year 981.03.11  
__Outland Transit Station_

Sugi stared around as the exclusive levels of _Outland_ zipped past their transit car. "I'm starting to wonder if Davine is a bigger shot than he thinks he is."

Beside her, Rumi frowned at the datapad that had been delivered via station security droid that morning. "Or maybe he just has some pull with the owner. The VIP suites are guaranteed to be more secure. Maybe he rented it for a couple hours."

The human man with dark hair and a scarred face who met them at the door was definitely not Davine. He squinted at them for a moment, the scar twisting the outer edge of his right eyebrow, before calling over his shoulder, _"Gar burc'yaré olar. Ni Boba te'habir bé."_ He glanced back at the two of them, gave his head a tilt indicating they should enter, and led the way down a short hall with a closed door on one side and a partially enclosed kitchen on the other.

Sugi looked up at Rumi, who widened her eyes a little. The scar aside, the man gave off some seriously dangerous vibes. Was he a bodyguard or something?

Beyond the entrance hall, the dining area of the very much lived-in apartment was looking a little full with a Whiphid, a fellow Zabrak, a Zygerrian teen, two droids, two adult humans, and a small human child all seated around a circular table with an array of bottled drinks in the middle. There was barely enough room left on the curved couch for the two of them.

The space issue was resolved somewhat as the older man scooped the boy out of his seat. _"Olar, Boba."_

The kid pouted in a way that was probably meant to be adorable and convincing. "Awww! _Ni copaani cuy'olar!"_

_"Val gana bor'koor jorhaa'i'bé. Mhi ven'yaimpar ven val kyr'nari."_

The man settled his kid on his hip and nodded to the others before leaving; the boy waved over the man's shoulder at the group, saying, "'Bye, Zozo!" The Zygerrian teenager grinned and waved back.

_"Ni ven'chaaj'jorhaa'i gar,"_ one of the other humans called as the man and boy left, and Sugi blinked. There was something strongly familiar about the bearded human, and it took her a long moment to recognise Davine without… well, being Davine. No scars save the big one across his left eye, reddish-blond hair pulled back in a high knot, and a neat beard framing his jaw changed his appearance dramatically. Even his comfortable slump against the Whiphid woman's flank offered very different body language from Davine's usual brash arrogance.

Davine waved them over with a grin. "Have a seat, have a beer, relax. If it weren't for the fact that I don't trust the Hutts, I'd have just met you in a bar. Sorry for the mystery."

Rumi pursed her lips at him in annoyance. "Are you sure you're Davine? You don't even sound like him. Which accent is real?"

Everyone laughed and the tension cracked. "This one," he said. "And as Feid-" he gestured to the Zabrak woman, who tilted her bottle in a jaunty salute- "told you, the whole thing is a con, and Davine isn't my real name. My name is Bastra. This is Kate, Pulkka, Zohli, Feid, Deesix, and Phel," he added, going around the seating from the astromech at his right elbow and around from his left. Sugi and Rumi shook hands with everyone despite having already known each other informally, even the modified astromech whistled cheerfully.

Sugi claimed part of the remaining space on Phel's left, facing Davine - Bastra - across the table, and took a moment to examine the bottles. None of them were labelled, and they appeared to be a variety of home-brews, likely purchased from one of the traders on the station. She chose one that looked particularly dark - possibly brewed with caf or chocolate - and twisted the cap off. "That's… more forthcoming than we were expecting."

"If you want to be a part of this, you need to know at least as much as Alim's crew does," Bastra said with a shrug.

Rumi settled beside Sugi on the edge of the couch, picked a bottle filled with something vibrantly red, and stared at the Whiphid. "So if you're Pulkka, and she's Feid, and he's Bastra… I'm guessing Alim is Hondo fucking Ohnaka."

Bastra looked _extremely_ amused as the others snickered. "Okay, maybe we've built a bit more of a reputation than I thought we had."

"He's too scrawny to be Nym," Rumi said with a grin. "Nym and I go back a ways. In the good way."

"Oh, excellent, old friends." Bastra's cheerful grin was parsecs away from Davine's chilly glares. No wonder he used the persona: nobody would ever connect someone that easygoing with Davine's dead-eyed ruthlessness. What had happened to Krayn and Porla was still sending shockwaves through the underworld, and a lot of Hutts, Vigos, and other vicious criminal types would have paid an awful lot of money to find the person responsible.

Bastra took a quick sip from his bottle and cleared his throat. "Here's the deal: you keep our secrets; we keep yours. Once in a while, there might be a situation best handled by ruthless people who can't be found after it's over. You're welcome to suggest something; everything is of course dependent upon whether we have the people available to pull it off and a solid plan for doing so."

Sugi waited a moment, but he seemed to be finished. "That's it? No contracts signed in blood or anything?"

The Zygerrrian, Zohli, giggled. "Ew, really?"

"Well I don't know how else you prevent someone from breaking a promise."

"That only works in stories," Bastra said, shaking his head. "We're all bounty hunters here. If one of us betrays the others, that's an awful lot of firepower we'd have to face, isn't it?"

Rumi leaned forward. "You have more to lose, though. Your former teacher hunting you down?"

The human stroked his bearded jaw in a manner that looked both distinguished and calculated. "My former teacher is an opportunist. He's not going out of his way to track me down, but if I do surface, as I did on Coruscant, he's not above hiring people to catch me."

"How _did_ you get away from him?" Sugi asked. "Last we knew, Black Sun was taking you offworld."

"Ah." He bared his teeth and there was more than a little of the predator in his grin, reminding them that while the deaths of Krayn and Porla were attributed to Davine, Bastra was still the person behind the mask. "I happen to be very, very good at breaking out of military-grade prison facilities."

Zohli flicked a bottle cap at him. "It would be nice if you didn't _have_ to, you know."

"They didn't exactly care to ask permission, sweetheart." But he gave her an apologetic smile.

Sugi glanced at the others, but none of them gave the slightest indication that he was even remotely exaggerating.

Feid smirked and met her gaze. "There's two reasons we weren't particularly worried for him. The second is the guy who owns this apartment."

The scary guy with the adorable kid. Sugi had no idea what language they'd been speaking in, but Bastra clearly knew enough of it to be conversational. Shared culture, maybe, or close enough familiarity that they could be friends.

"He's a bounty hunter too?"

"Far better than I am," Bastra confirmed. "I may have broken out of the holding cells, but he's the one who blew the outer wall open."

Scary people with scarier friends. Those were the best kind of allies to make. And if she and Rumi ended up in over their heads on something, having backup to call would definitely be nice. Sugi cleared her throat. "Well. The way I see it, you're worth an awful lot more to us as a friend than as a target."

"Good allies are worth their weight in aurodium," he agreed.

Phel had spent most of the time absently noodling on xir datapad; from the rhythmic motion of xir fingers, they were either coding or playing a game. Xe glanced up with an endearingly lopsided, gap-toothed smile. "So we missed all the post-reveal drama. Were you there for whatever happened with Ziro?"

Grimacing, Rumi nodded. "Hutt justice is… very different. They weren't mad that Ziro tried to off Ebor; they were mad that he was bad enough at it to both fail and get caught. By a bunch of bipeds, no less. He's been trying to get some business or other off the ground on Sleheyron for a while, but when Mama let everyone and their grand-slug know Ziro was… what was it she called him?"

"A 'pathetic, ineffectual weakling who failed to learn the most basic rules of doing business'," Sugi quoted with relish.

"That's it. He's lost almost every business ally he had worked so hard to cultivate, and Mama told him to not bother comming in the future. He might even have been disowned." She shrugged. "Might not seem like much to us, but for the Hutts, what Ziro did was the equivalent of political suicide."

"By _failing?"_ Zohli asked. Her large, pointed ears had swiveled back almost flat.

"Hutts prize boldness and success over even family ties," Bastra explained. "If he'd pulled it off, it wouldn't matter if the truth came out later, the Cartel would have been doubly impressed. Nirru likely would have forgiven him."

Zohli's face scrunched up in distaste.

"Hardeen was certain you were hiding something," Rumi said, and Feid snorted.

"Who isn't hiding something? Hardeen's raised paranoia to an art form."

"Good point." Sugi sipped her beer; her guess that it had been flavoured with caf had been correct. "So what now?"

Pulkka rolled her massive shoulders. "You go your way, we go ours. The Red Sun act doesn't work if we all stay together."

"It's mostly for safety. I'm sure the Hutt Cartel itself would love to get their hands on me for the Krayn situation," Bastra said with a grin. "And if they can't find Davine, they'll be looking for his crew. A large organization can't hide, but independent fighters can disappear into the crowd easily."

"Would you be open to sharing information beyond Red Sun matters?" Rumi asked. Everyone nodded, even the battle droid.

"It rather defeats the purpose of being allies if we're at odds," Deesix said, and Sugi startled at the timbre of its vox emitter - lower-pitched, less nasal, and differently accented from the B1s staffing the _Outland._ It tilted its head at her as if amused at her reaction.

Feid chuckled. "We share intel with Alim - Hondo - and Nym all the time. It's good to have backup on occasion. And Nym's immediate crew knows about the Red Sun gig. They helped us set it up."

"That is quite the network," Sugi said. Being involved with these people might be even better than they'd initially thought.

"It's a bit broader than that, even, but I'm not sure how pleased our other sources might be at being known." His smile was a crooked, mischievous thing. "Suffice it to say we don't need to know about your sources either, as long as you trust them."

Rumi grinned back. "As long as they're not gunning for you?"

"Are you working with Cavik Toth or Garris Shrike?"

Sugi made a gagging noise and Rumi rolled her eyes. "Ugh, those assholes? Never."

"Then we're probably safe," Bastra said cheerfully.

"Probably." Sugi squinted at him. "What about your teacher? Anything you can tell us so we know to avoid him?"

Bastra hesitated, and the rest of his crew looked uncomfortable, even the droid. After a moment, he said slowly, "He uses a lot of aliases, some I likely don't know. But if you see anything about someone who calls themself 'Sidious' - or 'Tyranus', who's an ally of his - run. And let me know as soon as you're safe."

Sugi pursed her lips. "Those aren't pleasant sounding names, Bastra."

His eyes went flinty for a bare second, a hard look that spoke of bad personal experiences. "They're not pleasant people. Don't try to mess with them, don't attempt to stick it out to get more information. I'd prefer people not get killed on my behalf."

Scary people with scary allies and scarier enemies. Sugi exchanged a glance with Rumi; her own mind was already made up, but her friend…? Her friend gave her a firm nod, her mouth set in a hard line. Bastra hadn't tried to play the risk down, and he didn't seem the type to exaggerate for the sake of scaring people off. Sugi was pretty sure he'd be as honest with them as he could be.

The tension around the table was getting itchy. Sugi back against the soft cushioning with a grin, folded one leg over the other, and raised her half-empty bottle. "To allies, then."

* * *

_Coruscant_

Maul stalked the corridors of his Master's stronghold, following the summons to the throne room. Confinement had long since become a twitchy vibration beneath his skin; a blessing during his long and frustrating recovery, it had become part punishment for his failure on Naboo. It had been years - literal Standard years - since he had seen a sky or breathed unfiltered air.

The acolytes on either side of the door - masked and faceless, new sentients his Master had collected and would likely break and discard within the year - allowed him to pass unquestioned. Caliiga had once been such a masked neophyte; the first time Maul had encountered her, he had stopped and observed, feeling her real potential, and had known she would survive past the initial training.

His Master had the holocomm active, and the blue-tinted image of Caliiga in her full armour was in the midst of giving her report. Maul passed in a wide circle to avoid the pickups and moved to his customary position behind Lord Sidious' left shoulder.

_"-The operatives here claim they were invaded by a small army, but what Tuuz was able to pull from their database suggests a minimal force of possibly as few as two people. Highly trained and effective people, I might add. The body count is astonishing."_

Lord Sidious's pallid hands were clenched into fists where they rested on the spread arms of his throne, but he otherwise gave no indication of his mood. "You claim Davine simply… _left_ their detention cells."

_"He employed an advanced Sith technique to destroy his restraints, murdered Grunseit's chief enforcer and several others who attempted to stop him - with nothing but his empty hands, I might add - and at some point joined up with the invading force. They departed together, but the system lost track of them at the speeder dock."_

Lord Sidious seethed silently for a moment; Caliiga waited patiently, almost unmoving.

"Were you able to recover the interrogation logs?"

_"No, my Lord. The detention level system had been spiked, and the logs were not backed up anywhere else."_

Maul studied their Lord from the corner of his eye. The matter of Davine and his hidden Master had proven a costly distraction for Lord Sidious; more so now that his chosen leader for Black Sun had been killed. Control of the immense cartel had been a key strategic point in Lord Sidious' plans.

It didn't escape Maul that if their Lord hadn't commanded Grunseit to capture Davine, the Falleen crime lord would likely still be alive. That knowledge must burn Lord Sidious to his core.

"Dispose of the lackeys who failed to contain Davine and then return to Coruscant."

_"As you command, my Lord."_ Caliiga bowed closed the connection.

Lord Sidious was silent for a long moment. "Maul."

Maul knelt where he stood. "What is your command, my Lord?"

The rustle of Lord Sidious' robes was more felt than heard as the Sith Lord stood to pace. "It appears our hidden rival is more capable than I gave him credit for. You will require assistance."

_That_ rankled, and Maul couldn't help bristling at the implication. He had long since fully recovered his strength and powers following his near death at the hands of the Jedi. "My Lord-"

"Do not question me, _Acolyte,"_ Sidious hissed. "You could not manage two unprepared Jedi. There is a powerful Force user who owes me a debt. You will go to Dathomir, speak to Mother Talzin, and command her to fulfill her end of our bargain."

It was vague enough that Maul hesitated. "What should I expect of this person?"

His Master's lips peeled back in a grimace. "No doubt she will know why you are there before you tell her. She will know what to give you, or she will die."

Tucking his chin to his chest, Maul murmured, "It will be done, my Lord."

* * *

_Reformation Year 981.03.12  
__Outland Transit Station_

_Hey, it's me. I can't tell you how happy I was to see you alive. Don't worry, I won't tell anyone. Just letting you know I got out, finally. Been a rough five years but this whole fiasco gave me an opportunity. Do I owe your boss one for that? Anyway, take care of yourself, looks like you have a solid crew watching your back._

_\- M_

Phel set the datapad down and blinked, surprised at the tears on xir cheeks. Myles was alright; Myles remembered xir. And was sharp enough to find xir private comm code, which was a good sign. He'd be able to stay off Black Sun's scanners. The message had come in under a different ID belonging to 'Torryn Jennaen', and Phel had nearly discarded it as one of the usual run of garbage messages, except the subject line had been a very particular word: Phel's original name, discarded years ago when xir relationship with gender had become uncomfortable. There was only one person who knew that name.

Sniffing a little, xe wiped at xir eyes. The subject of names reminded xir of something xe had been pondering a while earlier: Zohli's name was a matter of public record. The last thing they needed was her birth family hearing that she was out running around with a mercenary crew.

Making xir way out to the lounge of the apartment Bastra had rented from Roz - a space somewhat less swish than Fett's and not as far off the Market District, but large enough for all of them to have their own room - Phel tapped Kate's dome. "Got a minute to help me with something?"

#Something related to the mail you received?#

"Kind of." Phel dropped into a seat at the table and pulled a piece of xir and Bastra's shared slicing kit from underneath the bench. Xe wasn't certain how keenly Zoh's birth parents might be looking for her but it was better to play it safe. "Get your scrambler running. We're looking to see if anyone is searching for Zoh."

Kate mooped with concern. #You believe it's a risk?#

"I'd rather make sure it isn't than make assumptions. The _last_ thing we need is Zygerrian hunters interrupting one of our jobs."

#Terms?#

"Uhhh…" Phel plugged the home-built blindbox into the hardline HoloNet socket in the wall, then ran the secondary cable to the port Kate helpfully supplied and switched it on. "Zohli, Zygerrian. Um. Teenage, female." Running a search via droid was less convenient than using a datapad or terminal, but much, much harder to track. "Red hair, pale." Roz's HoloNet uplink already had a great scrambling package, but with the blindbox between Kate and the hardline, the keywords would be reduced to binary and wouldn't - hopefully - set off any alerts. "Green eyes."

#There are four hundred eighty-three individuals of that name, species and gender, with two-hundred fifteen matching that description in current HoloNet population archives; and two hundred sixty-six thousand five hundred and twelve individuals in Zygerrian historical files,# Kate announced with a tone of relief. #The historical Zygerrian female 'Zohli Zimaata Tiatanni' was a particularly famous figure dating to six thousand four hundred fifty-two Standard years ago.#

"Seriously?" Phel peered at the readout Kate sent to xir datapad. "What was she known for?"

Tiatanni had, apparently, been the first Empress of the Zygerrian Empire and the first ruler to open Zygerria to outside trade- "With the Sith Empire. Fantastic," xe muttered sourly. "No wonder they got into slavery." The culture had historically thrived on a structure of indentured servitude, but Tiatanni had charged full-speed into selling impoverished or indebted citizens to the Empire. What lovely people. "Looks like Zoh's safe, but maybe she'll want to change her name on principle."

#Is that important?#

Phel shrugged. "Sentients change our designators for all sorts of reasons. Sometimes our parents named us in a way that doesn't suit us. Maybe we just don't like the name or it brings bad memories. Or we were named for, you know, a horrible person."

When the first couple attempts to reach Bastra went unanswered, xe commed Feid, who was down at the hangar and getting Ohnaka's ships prepped to return to Florrum. The medics had been adamant about Bastra staying a bit longer for observation, so it was just going to be Phel, Kate, Feid, and Pulkka traveling back to retrieve the Veeka and the Sunflare.

_"Hey."_

"Where's Bastra?"

Xe could practically hear Feid's eyeroll. _"The kids were going stir-crazy so he and Fett took them to the gym to burn off steam."_

Phel blinked at the comm. "There's a gym in this place?"

_"Yeah, level twelve, section E-2."_

Phel's only experience with 'gyms' was limited to what they'd seen at the Temple on Jedha and the small training spaces Bastra had set up on the Veeka and the Sunflare. Whatever xe had expected, the vast hall full of what looked like torture equipment was not it. It took xir a while to find the others: Fett was halfway up an artificial stone wall without so much as a rope, coaching Zohli through a course made of brightly coloured fake rocks, while Bastra was kneeling on the floor holding pads for little Boba to hit. All four of them were dressed in close-fitting workout gear; Zoh and Fett were wearing boots while Bastra and Boba were barefoot on the mats.

Phel stopped and watched for a moment. "Isn't he a little young for that?"

Bastra didn't turn - he'd probably noticed Phel arriving. "I started when I was three."

"No offense, but there's nothing normal about how you were raised."

"There's no such thing as _normal._ It's entirely subjective. Normal for the average Coruscant citizen is not the same thing as normal for a Mandalorian fighter. Or a Jedi." He twitched a grin as he made Boba duck a careful swipe of his arm. "Jango wants to raise Boba as Mandalorian? Well, this is normal."

"Riiiiight. Well, speaking of normal, I checked to make certain Zoh's family isn't looking for her. Turns out her name is super common, and unless they get really specific, nobody will ever find her."

Bastra spared a glance. "What's with the personal visit, then?"

"She's named for a nasty Zygerrian queen. I dunno if she's aware of that or not." Xe shifted from one foot to the other as Bastra lowered his hands, signaling a pause for Boba, and frowned up at xir. "If she wants to change it, we're in a good place for that."

"Zoh?" Bastra called. Somehow he managed to raise his voice without yelling.

Well up the wall - too far, in Phel's opinion, but at least she was wearing a climbing harness wired to a rig in the ceiling - Zoh peered down from under her arm. "Yes, At'tha?"

"Do you know who your namesake is?"

She scrunched her face up and mimed spitting in disgust, a gesture Phel wished she hadn't picked up from Nym. "Yeah. Ancient Zygerrian history is a highlight in school. Popular name."

Bastra nodded as if he'd expected as much. "Do you want to change it?"

Phel chanced a glance at Fett; the other bounty hunter was hanging casually by his toes and one hand as he watched the exchange.

Zoh took a moment to consider it. "I don't think so. Not now, anyway. I like the idea of giving the name a better legacy."

It sounded like a weird reason - six thousand years was a lot of history to compete with - but she also sounded pretty firm about it. Phel shrugged and said, "Your call, anyway."

Xe staggered as Boba hugged xir around the knees and leaned hard into xir leg. "Oh! Oh no, I've been caught!" Phel let xirself topple over, careful not to land on the kid. Boba started giggling and tried to sit on Phel's stomach. "What are you gonna do now that you got me?"

The four year old couldn't stop laughing enough to say anything and Phel wrapped xir much longer arms around him. "Guess it's tickle time!"

_"No!"_ Boba shrieked through the giggles, making absolutely no attempt to get away.

"No?" Phel paused and raised an eyebrow at him.

"Tickles!" the boy demanded. Phel grinned.

"Your funeral, kiddo."

* * *

_Reformation Year 981.03.13  
__Outland Transit Station_

Spirits didn't meditate. Not really, not the same way living people did. But they could still draw inward on themselves to consider things. Ulic had spent a good portion of the past week sifting through the thoughts and information he'd collected on Coruscant.

He wasn't particularly happy about his conclusions.

Phel had handed his crystal back to Obi-Wan at the first opportunity, but things had still been hectic - and crowded - with Ohnaka's crew and various other acquaintances filtering in and out constantly. It hadn't been convenient for sitting down and discussing the heavier issues.

But the others had gone off to retrieve their ships, leaving Obi-Wan, Zohli, and Deesix behind. The droid claimed it needed time to re-compartmentalise its primary and secondary memory banks, but seemed more interested in just making certain Zohli and Obi-Wan were alright. It was rather sweet.

Fett's kid had spontaneously fallen asleep after lunch, just as Zohli had been asking Fett for another climbing lesson; Obi-Wan had volunteered to remain behind at Fett's apartment to keep an eye on the little one. Ulic had hoped for a bit more privacy, but it really couldn't be helped. He waited until he was certain Fett wasn't going to forget something and return before making himself visible sitting on the coffee table.

"We need to talk."

Obi-Wan flicked a glance up from his datapad. "I was wondering when you'd say something. Give me a moment to wrap this up."

He set the 'pad down a moment later and pulled his legs in to sit in a half-lotus on the couch, mirroring Ulic's pose. "I'd be lying if I said I wasn't worried."

Ulic gave him a tight smile; the Shadow that had been present the last few years within his friend had grown much more pronounced. "Describe what happened."

Frowning, Obi-Wan looked at his hands folded in his lap. That was fine: eye contact wasn't necessary. "Moj ordered them to capture Zohli."

"I heard that part."

Obi-Wan nodded. "After he ended the call, he suggested that he would have me watch them… work." He choked on the last word and the Shadow stirred. "I don't remember much of what happened after that, until I recognised Jango. I remember killing Moj…." A flicker of amber fire lit the depths of his eyes but vanished just as quickly. "I must have killed the guards beyond the door… and a squad. Maybe two. I don't remember when I got a blaster, there would surely have been more available, but with only one hand working, I would have had to leave the rest." He flexed his right hand, massaging the muscle of his palm beneath the knuckles with his left thumb. "I lost control, Ulic. If I hadn't recognised Jango, I likely would have killed him, too."

Ulic's eyes narrowed. "You think so?"

Obi-Wan looked up at him with a questioning expression and Ulic leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

"Moj triggered that protective rage of yours by threatening your daughter. It worked to your benefit because he thought he was dealing with the sort of callous cartel asshole Black Sun usually hires. You would have been restrained, right? How'd you get free?"

The look on Obi-Wan's face shifted to one of awe and possibly a little confusion. "I… don't know, actually. The cuffs were in the way, connected to the table, so I sort of… willed them to fall apart. At the base molecular level."

Ulic blinked in surprise, then nodded; it confirmed what he'd already suspected. "You could as easily have just snapped the chain, you know. Destroyed the table. Set Moj on fire. All knee-jerk responses which require a lot less fine control than what you chose to do. And then you had enough presence of mind to look for the exit."

"I-"

"Remember what you said? If you'd been less in control, you would have simply killed Jango where he stood and kept going. You recognised a friend, someone you valued. But a Sith in an uncontrolled rage can be an unreasoning monster, Obi-Wan. Allies, enemies, it doesn't matter. We can so easily unleash on the people we love. Our partners." He smiled ruefully. "Or our brothers. It was that protective rage we spoke about. Remember? It's a very useful tool, although if someone figures out they can use it to get to you, it can be used against you easily. But you were in complete control the whole time."

"Then why can't I remember most of it?" The lack of memory seemed to upset him more than what he had actually done.

Ulic grinned. "Well, that would be the trauma. The human brain can choose to lock away things it feels are too traumatic to keep within easy access; sometimes it crafts an alternate personality to contain the mess, particularly if the trauma is repeated, sustained, and happens while the brain is still developing. You're twenty-five Standard, so you probably don't have to worry so much about that, at least. It might be a good idea for you to unlock and deal with those memories eventually. Not now," he added quickly. "Later. Get yourself back to something close to settled, first. Your brain might even unlock on its own, which is the best scenario."

Obi-Wan frowned. "I'm not a fan of my head randomly choosing to unearth skeletons unbidden."

"Nah, it sucks, puts you in a bad mood for the rest of the day. But that means that part of your brain is healing. Like removing stitches." Ulic held out his right hand and Obi-Wan reached out with his left easily, expressing complete trust in whatever Ulic was about to do. Possibly also confidence that he could handle it, which he very likely could. Ulic rested his palm lightly against Obi-Wan's - not quite firmly enough to start passing through - and focused on the young man's Force signature.

When Ulic had been compromised by the Dark Side, by the Krath's fucking poison, his own signature had been riddled with fissures, like the surface of active lava, the stress of the rage beneath fracturing the surface and barely contained. It had been painful, and that pain had only fuelled the rage, driving him forward in search of any target to turn it against, in hopes of some relief from the constant pressure.

What he found in Obi-Wan was something almost serene. Nothing was broken or fragmented; it was stable and even calm despite the Darkness wrapped around the glowing core. He brushed against it lightly and it pressed back, playful but warning.

Obi-Wan laughed softly. "I felt that."

Ulic withdrew and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Well. I can tell you two things. Firstly, you are not at risk of having my problems. It's like the Darkness is _protecting_ your Light, and… okay, that can also be a problem if it gets _too_ protective, but you're not going to destroy your mind."

"Well, that's a relief. What's the second thing?"

He didn't bother trying to hide his grin. "I bet you can access those memories Nadd locked away two years ago, now. We can test that, if you want." He hesitated, then added, "Not too much later, though. You should prioritise those people you rescued, but when we get a chance, would you mind taking me to Rhen Var?"

Obi-Wan tilted his head. "What brought this on, now?"

Ulic sighed and propped his chin on his fist. "That fucking crystal. I've gone four thousand years not caring where it ends up, but-" He bit his lip and glanced away. "There's something I give a shit about now, and the risk of being lost or taken away is just… infuriating. I'm literally helpless if that happens and I can't reach you or the others." He glanced back with a glare, mentally pleading for Obi-Wan to not say anything sappy or sympathetic. He wasn't sure he could handle that right now.

Obi-Wan arched an eyebrow. "Even if your Lighter half might want to destroy you?"

"He won't." Ulic hated to admit it, but he needed his other half. "He can't. He might refuse to help, but that's the worst thing he could do to me. We're like charged ions: if he tries to affect me in any way via the Force, we'll end up recombining. Better to do that willingly, right?"

"Or not at all," Obi-Wan agreed. "Alright, once we deal with Mandalore-"

"How'd they take that suggestion, anyway?" Ulic had been focusing on himself when Obi-Wan had tentatively presented the idea of a farm on a safe world to the rescued slaves.

"Well. Most liked the idea of building something for themselves, some want to go to school and learn a trade properly first. The legal representatives were a little taken aback at the idea of Mandalore," Obi-Wan said with a grin, "but that's just one of several possibilities, if it doesn't pan out."

"You don't think it will?"

Obi-Wan shrugged. "Jango's word carries weight, but I still need to talk to the community. If they dislike the idea, there are a few other options to try, including talking to Senator Organa about setting something up on Alderaan."

Ulic grimaced and rocked his hand in the air. "I'm from Alderaan. Even back in my day, most of the arable land was tenanted. I can't imagine the population has thinned since then."

"There are still other options," Obi-Wan insisted.

It was sweet how he'd latched onto the idea of being the protector of a colony for a group of freed slaves. Was it a sense of responsibility for them, guilt at having his hand forced by Nirru the Hutt, or desire to protect people who were important to someone he knew? The reasons didn't really matter when the end result was that Obi-Wan was volunteering to manage the well-being of over a hundred people without any sense of doubt or uncertainty in taking that responsibility. It was a good sign.

That left Ulic the task of making sure his friend was prepared to handle the Darkness he was tapping into.

"Well, since we have this space to ourselves for a bit…" Ulic grinned. "Feel like prodding that durasteel trap in your memory?"

"As long as you can make certain I don't get lost if it throws me back out," Obi-Wan said. He arched a brow at Ulic in playful challenge.

It was so easy to slip into Obi-Wan's mind now; they recognised each other on an instinctive level. Ulic found himself standing with Obi-Wan in that odd walled garden he'd glimpsed before.

Green plants of some indefinable variety grew in neatly ordered rows; for brief moments Ulic thought he might recognise them before deciding that he didn't. Around the verges and spreading up the walls, dark tendrils of something like ivy crept; threads of it trailed along the rows and twined gently with the greenery.

Obi-Wan knelt and held out his hand; both green plants and dark vines seemed to shift towards his touch, brushing his palm and coiling almost fondly around his fingers.

"An interesting way to envision your mental state," Ulic observed.

"What does yours resemble?"

"Endless corridors lined with doors of all types." Whenever he bothered to delve that deep, many of the doors refused to open, inaccessible to his present state of existence. Ulic folded his arms, keeping his own hands beyond reach of the plants, and watched as Obi-Wan wandered the space.

"There are more vines than there were before. They were mostly around the edges. Now they're everywhere." Obi-Wan frowned and knelt beside a particularly lush plant, running his fingers along the vine curled around its stem. "I'm going to have to keep an eye on this. They're coexisting for now, but I don't want the vines to start choking the plants out." He tugged gently at the vine and it loosened willingly. "These kinds of systems can work in nature, but sometimes the vines are parasitic and drain the plants they live with."

"It's a good analogy." Ulic tilted his head. "How do you organise anything here, though?"

The grin that crossed Obi-Wan's face was pure mischief. He tugged lightly at a leaf and the plant - green and dark together - expanded until it formed a sort of doorway. "I have a system."

"Does that go anywhere?"

Obi-Wan arched an eyebrow at the pool of utter blackness in the circle of leaves. "It does, but whether it will kick me out again remains to be seen." He reached forward and pressed his palm into the nothingness; his hand sank through, slowly, like pressing through gel. Obi-Wan's face pinched as he focused, and as Ulic watched, more vines spread around the portal, the darkness of the plants leeching into it. "Got it!"

The pool of blackness expanded with shocking suddenness and the environment around them shifted, becoming the temple courtyard on Dxun. Kate and the Nautolan Jedi Master, Kerr, appeared beside Obi-Wan, who barely caught him as he collapsed bonelessly.

_Eyes up, kid,_ Ulic's memory-self whispered. _We got his attention._

"Wonderful," Obi-Wan muttered.

It felt exceedingly odd to be a part of Obi-Wan's recollection _as Obi-Wan_ and see himself as a separate part of it. Ulic expended a little effort to connect his memory of the event with Obi-Wan's and slipped into the position of his past self, seeking any details he might have missed before.

The mist had thickened ominously, and a vague form walked out of the shadows clustered at the entrance to the pyramid, gaining more distinct outlines as it approached. By the time it stopped a couple meters away, it was clearly a human man dressed in armour, wearing a displeased expression as he eyed Obi-Wan.

_"Who do you think you are? You reek of the Light."_

Memory-Ulic suppressed a laugh at the comment as Obi-Wan bowed and held it. Beside him, Kate hummed softly in robotic confusion but otherwise didn't interrupt the moment.

_"Lord Nadd. I come to you seeking wisdom."_

The spirit was silent for a long moment, studying first Obi-Wan and then the place where Ulic lingered, invisible. _"How interesting. You bring with you one I know. Speak up!"_

Ulic's made himself visible and offered the shorter bow of one Lord to another. Technically Nadd was higher in the pecking order, but it was foolish to make oneself vulnerable even out of respect. _"It's been a long time, my Lord. I feared you might have departed."_

The other spirit scoffed. _"I bound my spirit to my relics deliberately, Qel-Droma. Thousands died for it. I would not waste that effort. What does a failure like you have to say for yourself?"_

Failure. Yeah, that stung. Ulic sneered. _"As I recall, you were the one who declared that the future of the Sith lay with me. Bet you feel pretty foolish, huh?"_

Nadd's eyes narrowed to gleaming slits for a long, tense moment before he laughed, harsh and humourless. _"Such is the way of the Force. Who is this boy to you?"_

_"He is my student...and my friend."_

Nadd hissed with disdain as Obi-Wan straightened. _"Friends can betray you."_

_"As can students, allies, and lovers,"_ Ulic countered. So much betrayal. It was a miracle the Sith Empire had even got off the ground, let alone launched and sustained momentum for thousands of years. At least, until the ultimate in backstabbings had occurred at Ruusan. _"The Jedi of this era eschew emotional attachments as much as your kind once did,"_ he added, knowing Nadd would appreciate it.

Nadd's delight felt like being flayed by a million shards of frozen glass. _"How ironic. I should like to hear more of this, but you came here with a purpose."_

Ulic nodded to Obi-Wan, who tugged the cord bearing Ulic's crystal from inside his shirt. Nadd squinted hard at the crystal and then tilted his head at Ulic.

_"I'm not certain whether you are admirable or pitiable."_

Ulic gritted his teeth in something that wasn't quite a smile. _"A little from column A, a little from column B?"_ There was nothing wrong with being bound to one's former lightsaber crystal - succeeding in the moment of death was a challenge worthy of respect, in fact. But on the level of the Force he and Nadd occupied, the damage to the crystal's energy - to Ulic, himself - was like a raw wound, bleeding actively into the Force around it.

Nadd folded his arms, contemplating the mess. _"What happened?"_

Ulic shrugged carelessly. _"The Jedi happened, as they do. I wish to be free of this binding, yet remain."_

The older spirit hummed thoughtfully, vibrating the ground and columns around them like a minor tremor. _"And you, little hunter. Are you aware of what it is you carry so close to yourself?"_

Obi-Wan nodded. _"I am, my Lord. We were told his wish could be fulfilled, but that the crystal would need to be repaired at its origin first. There are so many things that could refer to."_

The other spirit clasped his hands behind his back and regarded them cautiously. _"You're not going to like what I have to tell you."_

Of course they wouldn't. None of this so far had been good news. Ulic pressed his lips together tightly and sighed. Best rip the bacta patch off now: delaying wouldn't reduce the unpleasantness any. _"Nevertheless, we need to hear it."_

_"To repair the crystal, you must go to where its soul was sundered. However, repairing that would destroy you."_ He grinned mockingly at Ulic. _"I assume you were not told of this."_

Sometimes Ancient Sith had the most appropriate curses. Ulic spat a few words that sizzled as they crossed his lips; somewhere on Jedha, a monk tripped as the curse did its job. _"Of course they would misunderstand and assume he wished to be rid of me."_

_"A good thing you came to me first, then, no? You are the broken part which must be repaired, a fragment sheared from a whole which has not yet joined the Force."_ The ancient Sith shook his head. _"As you are, you do not have the strength to linger unbound. What you seek is possible, in theory, but it would require re-joining you to the larger whole."_

_"Which is entirely Light, and might happily destroy him," Obi-Wan murmured. "Well, that's less than ideal."_

That was likely an exaggeration, but Ulic's better half would be difficult to convince. Ulic sighed. _"Is there no other way?"_

_"Possibly, but it would still require the cooperation of your weaker side,"_ Nadd sneered. _"Sith bind ourselves to our relics and tombs for a very good reason."_

_"Is the risk of a relic being lost truly worth it?"_ Obi-Wan asked.

_"A Sith relic cannot be truly lost while the spirit within retains consciousness. There are always weak-minded tools who can be drawn into service,"_ Nadd said with a dismissive wave of his hand. _"Why such an intense desire for freedom, Qel-Droma? A free-roaming Jedi spirit is not unheard of, but the same state is nearly impossible for the Sith. It's a grave risk you take."_

Ulic exchanged a glance with Obi-Wan, feeling the young man's present self recognise that this was the part of the conversation that had been hidden. Obi-Wan's memory-self nodded for Ulic to explain.

_"Bane's line has resurfaced. They tipped their hand, and we know the Apprentice and have the name of the Master."_

_That_ got Nadd's attention. Ulic would have been outright shocked if Nadd had any sympathies for that particular line. They had all felt the silence settle within the Dark Side on the day of the Sith genocide. Bane's philosophy was wholly incorrect and he had eradicated Nadd's entire people because of it.

_"Now I understand, Qel-Droma."_ The Sith Lord turned away from them, the intensity of his thoughts almost tangible._ "Give me the names."_

_"What do you intend to do with them?"_ Obi-Wan asked. Ulic could appreciate his caution: a Sith Lord with access to enough binding items could use a spirit like their own personal Force battery. The last thing they needed was Sidious getting ideas about using Nadd.

_"One does not preserve oneself upon death in order to rest, little hunter. If you stand against the line of Bane, then our enemy is the same."_ He glanced over his shoulder, his expression mocking. _"Does a fallen Jedi have trouble with that concept?"_

Obi-Wan merely tilted his head and said, _"He calls himself Sidious. His apprentice is a former Jedi Master who now calls himself Tyranus."_ He hesitated, then added, _"Tyranus was my Master's Master."_

_"Ahh. Then the matter has a personal cost."_

_"He was kind to me. He wanted to train me."_ Obi-Wan's expression turned grim. _"His new Master would have forced him to hand me over."_ He glanced at Ulic, who nodded.

_"Tyranus became aware of my presence, if not my identity. He advised me to tell Obi-Wan, here, to leave. It was possibly the only way Tyranus could have warned him without Sidious knowing."_

_"The Apprentice already struggles against the Master's chains."_ Nadd huffed an annoyed sigh. _"The_ tradition-" the word came out flavoured heavily with disdain- _"of killing one's master was borne only by a few lines in my day. A self-destructive and reductionist philosophy."_

They watched as he paced, his attention for the moment elsewhere. Very much elsewhere: Ulic could sense the ancient Sith Lord communicating with some unknowable others beyond his own ability to sense. Eventually Nadd turned on his heel and stalked towards them, stopping in Obi-Wan's space; had it not been for the lack of any sort of malice, Ulic might have moved between them.

Nadd reached forward and cupped his hand around Obi-Wan's jaw; the young man's breath caught and he shivered at the touch. It couldn't have felt much more pleasant than touching Ulic in his current form.

_"I'm going to give you something, little hunter, but it is something for which you are not yet ready."_

Obi-Wan seemed transfixed by Nadd's glowing gaze, but he managed, _"Can I at least know what it is?"_

A smirk curled Nadd's mouth and he released Obi-Wan, taking a step back. _"Skills. Skills which you are not, at this time, capable of learning or exercising. I can plant the knowledge within your mind, lock it away securely, and it will become accessible when you are ready."_

Ulic scoffed. _"And how will he even know to work towards unlocking it if you make him forget it's there?"_

The smirk disappeared and Nadd glared at them both. _"You can_ tell him, _can't you? This knowledge is not for those who refuse to delve the Dark Side. Quite simply, the mere act of practicing requires it. If he never again touches the Dark Side, if he shies away from its beauty, he will never risk unlocking the memory."_

Obi-Wan was studying the Sith Lord carefully. _"What are you offering, exactly?"_

_"Your opponent is skilled in the ways of Sith sorcery, passed down in an unbroken line from Bane. Even if you choose not to follow their example, knowledge of their skills will be essential if you wish to oppose them."_ Nadd studied Obi-Wan for a moment before glancing at Ulic. _"I have no wish to deride your power-"_

_"Yeah, right,"_ Ulic snorted.

Nadd's nasty little smile returned. _"Sorcery is not part of your skillset. You came to the Dark Side a fallen Jedi rather than a Sith trained from childhood. This is not a lesson you might offer your young student."_

Ulic shrugged. _"I can't dispute that."_

The Sith Lord turned back to Obi-Wan, who was looking pensive.

_"Is there something particular to sorcery that makes it different from my previous training?"_

Nadd gave him an incredulous stare. _"Everything. It is the purest expression of the Dark Side, derived from traditions of the earliest Sith priesthood. Your Jedi expended tremendous effort over thousands of years to eradicate its practise. Now there is only one with true training, although he is passing on what he knows to his Apprentice and possibly his acolytes. And even then, much has been lost to time - or because a practitioner of Bane's line lacked the discipline to harness the finer aspects. Sidious wields sorcery like a sprinkling of poison in a wineglass, in wits and words. And when wits fail, he wields it like a battering ram. There is no moderation."_

Obi-Wan's eyes narrowed dangerously. _"You know a great deal about Sidious all of a sudden."_

_"Death is no barrier to the Sith."_ Baring his teeth in a disgusted snarl, Nadd said, _"The line of Bane learned well the lessons in concealing their true identities: only their apprentice and closest acolytes may know the truth. With patience and guile you may come to know the face of your enemy, but you must be cautious. Sith sorcery is powerful, yes, but it's the poisoned chalice you must be more wary of. The battering ram is obvious, and can be met force for force, but the poison cannot be seen, smelled, or tasted. You must build your immunity before attempting it."_

_"You know who he is."_

Ulic couldn't blame Obi-Wan for being angry - he'd spent years trying to track Sidious down the hard way. The glare the young man shot him said he'd also figured out what Ulic knew. What Ulic had refused to say. It was very difficult to conceal information from beings that could walk through walls, after all.

Some things were too dangerous to know too soon.

Nadd shrugged, unaffected by Obi-Wan's quiet outrage. _"I know one who knows. You are not ready for that confrontation; you are not even ready to choose whom to trust with this deadly secret."_ The spirit's smile was chilling. _"I have given you the knowledge of focusing exercises, the ones Sith in my day learned as children. When you have mastered the focus, seek out the holocron of Darth Occlus. It's one of the rare few that has not ended up in the hands of Bane's line. You must find it for yourself,"_ he added when Obi-Wan opened his mouth, likely to ask where it was. _"I don't have that knowledge. Occlus was reclusive and chose not to bind himself to any other relics. Apply yourself, little hunter. Do some research."_

Ulic could feel what Nadd was doing, drawing on the Force and binding it around Obi-Wan's memory. The young man shuddered and blinked as the past few minutes disappeared from his recollection, along with the anger at being openly lied to.

With an idle wave of his hand, Nadd dismissed them both. _"You have your answer. Leave. And take that with you; he is far too inquisitive for my liking."_

Obi-Wan bowed politely before kneeling to collect the unconscious Jedi Master and pull him over his shoulder in a rescue carry.

_"Oh, and Qel-Droma?"_

Obi-Wan and Ulic turned.

_"I mocked you for your previous failure, and you mocked my incorrect foresight. Yet...here you are with a corrupted Jedi, training him as a student."_ The Sith Lord smirked at Ulic. _"Not all prophecies have a time limit. Something to consider."_

The memory faded, and Ulic braced himself as he returned to full awareness. Obi-Wan was upset, as expected, but he was taking the remainder of his meditation to explore the information Nadd had placed in his mind. As he watched, the barrier around Obi-Wan's mind - already fairly strong after a lifetime of training - locked down tighter than a Muunilinst vault. Obi-Wan's eyes blinked open dazedly and he took a breath as if tasting the air for the first time.

"Oh."

Then he glared at Ulic. "I'm still angry with you."

Ulic held up his hands. "I expected you to be."

A little smile tugged Obi-Wan's cheek. "But if I wasn't angry with you and Nadd for deliberately keeping me in the dark, I wouldn't have been able to use that technique he gave me. I need to work on it more, of course. But I think I understand why you wouldn't tell me who Sidious is." He sobered. "There's only one person so powerful that you wouldn't want to risk me telling a Jedi about him. And that is… a terrifying thought. It explains a great deal, and it's terrifying."

Ulic propped his elbows on his knees and sighed. "Yeah, tell me about it-"

_"Who the fuck are you?"_

Obi-Wan and Ulic both looked over quickly to see Fett standing in the entrance hall glaring at them with a blaster aimed at Ulic, a slightly dishevelled Zohli peeking around the protective arm he'd put out in front of her.

"Hi, Ulic!"

"Hey, kiddo." Ulic looked at Obi-Wan, trying very hard to maintain a straight face with an angry bounty hunter spluttering at them. "How do you want to handle this?"

Zoh ducked under Fett's arm and came over to give Obi-Wan a slightly sweaty hug that streaked his shirt with chalk from her hands. Fett followed reluctantly.

"You know how I feel about people I don't know being here with Boba."

There was probably a lot more to it than that, including matters of personal privacy and Obi-Wan not having asked permission to have an apparent guest. The younger man grimaced. "Technically he's been here before."

"Technically," Ulic agreed. "But it doesn't count if he didn't know about it." He held a hand out to Fett. "I'm Ulic. Technically also crew on the Sunflare. I'm also dead," he supplied helpfully as Fett cursed at the unpleasant feel of trying to shake hands with a Sith spirit.

"You're _what?"_

"Dead. Deceased. Lacking physical form for over four thousand years. It's quite the experience."

Zohli pulled a face at him. "Don't be obnoxious."

Ulic grinned at her. "It really is too much fun, though."

She rolled her eyes and kissed her dad on the cheek. "Going back to our place to shower the chalk off. Have fun, At'tha!"

Fett prodded at Ulic's shoulder with the blaster in his left hand, the barrel sinking through Ulic's form as if it were nothing but air. It wasn't particularly comfortable for him, but he could accept the bounty hunter's right to be rude in exchange for two unpleasant shocks in a row. "Ulic. As in Qel-Droma."

The man knew his history alright. Ulic grimaced and stood from his position on the coffee table - his feet passing clear through it and making Fett twitch again - and shifted back onto one of the chairs. "That's right."

"You defeated Mandalore the Indomitable."

"That was a long time ago. Looking for a rematch?"

Fett snorted and finally sat. "I don't have to prove myself to you."

"No, you don't," Ulic agreed. "And it's not much fun to fight someone you can't really hit anyway."

Casting a sidelong look at Obi-Wan, Fett asked, "Where'd you find this guy?"

The bland look on Obi-Wan's face was all the warning Ulic got. "Dooku's private vault of Sith artifacts."

The other man's face went terrifyingly still, and for a moment Ulic was actually concerned for Obi-Wan's safety. _"Sith_ artifacts. _Dooku."_

Obi-Wan bobbed his head easily. "He has quite a collection." He twitched a grin. "I might have relieved him of a few pieces."

Fett stared at him for a heartstopping moment before surging to his feet, pacing the open space with agitation rolling off him in waves. "You're telling me that fucker - Tyranus, whatever he's calling himself now - is also involved with the Sith."

It was incredibly difficult not to laugh; Ulic bit the inside of his lip. "The name change didn't clue you in?"

Fett glared at Ulic and then looked away. "It explains a few things," he muttered. Obi-Wan was giving him a fascinated stare, but they both knew Fett wouldn't talk about whatever had brought him and Dooku into contact, particularly after Galidraan. The man sighed and returned, falling back into the seat he'd vacated, and asked, "So what's keeping you hanging around?"

"You're handling this whole _spirit_ thing a lot better than I expected," Ulic said with a laugh.

Fett shrugged. "I can try to deny the fact that touching you is like trying to handle cold pond scum-"

"Told you," Obi-Wan teased.

"Yeah, yeah."

The Mandalorian made a visible attempt against a smile. "Or I can suck it up, admit that spending time around a former Jedi is just going to make my life weird, and move on. Well?"

Ulic sighed. "An accident, for the most part."

"You didn't try to, uh. Move on?"

"Sure I did, but I can't." Ulic gestured to Obi-Wan. "That's one of the reasons I started talking to him. One of several. And the main reason why I needed to talk to him now. Uh, sorry for intruding on your space."

Fett was squinting at him, while Obi-Wan just looked amused. Eventually the Mandalorian shook his head. "Okay, whatever. Just leave my kid alone."

Ulic blinked; he'd expected more questions, maybe a few threats. Fett seemed to genuinely not care about anything related to Ulic - as well as being sharp enough to recognise that he would never be able to follow through on a threat anyway.

Unless he decided to hurt Obi-Wan; it was what a Sith might do. But Fett wasn't Sith, and he seemed to be getting over his initial dislike of Obi-Wan rather quickly. The spirit _really_ wanted to know what had passed between the two of them.

Holding his hands up in capitulation, Ulic said, "He has no idea I exist, and I can keep it that way."

"Great. Please make yourself scarce before he wakes up."

Ulic had, in fact, been keeping half an eye on Boba's sense in the room down the hall; the kid was awake but drowsy and hadn't yet registered the sound of his father's voice. "He'll probably be up soon, actually." He arched an eyebrow at Obi-Wan. "We can discuss that other stuff later."

Obi-Wan aimed an accusing finger at Ulic. "Still angry with you." His tone was mild, but he was also quite serious.

Ulic shrugged. "Yep. Behave yourselves, kids."

* * *

_Reformation Year 981.03.14  
__Coruscant_

The mess with Ebor had been considerably more high-profile than she'd anticipated; it had taken the better part of a week to clear things up, and then there had been the trouble of tendering her resignation.

That part, at least, had been easy to explain. The lapse in security which had permitted Black Sun to get in had been, nominally, her fault. Ki'paran still felt a twinge of guilt at having allowed Black Sun's spy to slip through her clearing process. But his background had checked out, just dirty enough to be unexceptional. Someone had gone to a lot of effort to craft the dancer's file, even getting recommendations from supposed former employers. If it hadn't been for her own private sources, she would never have questioned letting the guy in.

But that hadn't been part of her job. So she'd let it slide, and people had gotten hurt.

Now she slumped at a table in a down-stack tapcafe, waiting for her contact to show up. It wasn't a bad place, a little seedy but clean, and none of the patrons gave her more than a passing glance.

"Someone told me you're looking for work."

Ki'paran glanced up at the Weequay woman and arched a brow carefully. The other woman was dressed slightly nicer than her in something that could be mistaken for a business suit, if you ignored the fact that it had been crafted from armourweave and the decorative panels in her jacket contained armoured plates. "Sure, but depends who told you that."

_"Naseen."_

Ki'paran gestured to the seat opposite her. "Then we might have something to discuss."

The woman set her drink on the table, sat down, and touched something in her pocket. Ki'paran clenched her teeth as the privacy field activated; it always vibrated painfully in her ears until it peaked. "Where shall we start?"

"Let's start with Ebor. What happened?"

Ki'paran wished she had some of her drink left to throw back. "The conclusive evidence is that Ziro was trying to encourage Ebor to abdicate, but it really wasn't working. Near as we can figure, Ziro wanted to get in good with Black Sun by taking over Ebor's everything. Black Sun snuck a spy in. I wanted to deny him, but-"

"Not your job." The woman nodded gently. "Continue."

"Grunseit took exception to Ziro for whatever reason and had his spy let a small army in to try to kill the Hutt off."

"Back up. There was a third group involved."

She nodded. "After the first couple attempts by Ziro, their mother hired a group called Red Sun. Their leader attracted Grunseit's attention for some other reason and was abducted by Black Sun in the middle of everything else. I was a little worried about him, but the rest of his people said it was well in hand; by the time everything was wrapped up, they had confirmation that he was safe."

The other woman leaned forward. "Assessment of Davine."

Ki'paran blinked in surprise. "Seemed like a security officer's worst nightmare, puts on a good show of being a thug. A really intelligent thug, the most dangerous type. But he treats his people well. There's genuine care and affection there, more like family."

The Weequay gestured for her to continue. Ki'paran hesitated, then said quietly, "He's Force sensitive. Dark, but not overtly so. Who is he, sir?"

"Someone we're keeping an eye on. A potential asset. How would you feel about an assignment on the Outer Rim? Nice quiet deal with a group of simple pirates."

She was so tired she couldn't help a giggle. "You never send me anything simple, Master An-chul."

"Shush." The Master of Shadows grinned. "You should have a comfortable timeframe to work with for this next one, at least. Take a few days for yourself, get some sleep. Decompress. Do some sightseeing like normal people do. I know I ask a lot of you, and I wish I could give you a month." She huffed in exasperation. "Or a _year._ When you're ready, pick up your transit instructions at the usual drop." She offered her hand as if sealing a deal.

Ki'paran sighed and slipped the datachip containing her full report into Master An-Chul's hand as they clasped. "Sleep. There's a thing I don't see much of."

"It's an occupational hazard, darling." An-chul paused. "If you run into Davine's people again, consider them trustworthy. He used to be one of ours."

_"Used_ to be. But still trustworthy?"

Master An-chul stood and tugged the bottom hem of her jacket. "He's hunting the same people we are. Just… from a different angle. And without Council sanction. Trust in the Force, Knight Dinaas'kan."

"Master." She watched her boss leave and waited for the ringing in her ears to fade. Even a couple days' respite was a coveted luxury. Dina hadn't seen the inside of the Temple or carried a lightsaber in over a decade; not since she'd been knighted on the sly and immediately appropriated by the Shadows after that disaster on Yinchorr. The explosion that had cost part of her lekku and landed her with the other unidentified wounded in a Colonies medical station had helped her disappear officially from the Order's records, but An-chul had her taking all sorts of odd jobs from the Core to the Rim and back.

The room she'd rented in a doss-house a level up was practically singing to her. It wasn't a fancy place by any stretch, but it was clean with no pests, the managers were honest, and the laundry service and hot water were both part of the rental fee. Dina intended to make the most of it.

* * *

.

* * *

Mando'a translations:

"Gar burc'yaré olar. Ni Boba te'habir bé." - "Your friends are here. I'm going to take Boba out."

"Olar, Boba." - "C'mere, Boba."

"Awww! Ni copaani cuy'olar!" - "Awww! I wanna stay!"

"Val gana bor'koor jorhaa'i'bé. Mhi ven'yaimpar ven val kyr'nari." - "They have business to discuss. We'll come back when they're done."

"Ni ven'chaaj'jorhaa'i gar." - "I'll comm you."


	2. Chapter 02: Kadë

**Chapter 02: Kadë**

_Reformation Year 981.03.13  
The _Infiltrator

Maul squinted at the blue-green orb in the viewport on approach. The Force was strong here, vibrant with life. Bright pinpoints suggested clustered Force-sensitive beings, sentient and otherwise, unafraid of discovery and existing openly.

The coordinates his Master had given him directed him to a boggy plain near the equator, set in a perpetual murky twilight from the output of a nearby volcano. The people here existed in gentle Darkness, comfortable in their ability to merely exist. There was something enticing about their level of openness; it would have been nice to simply be allowed to _be,_ without threat of Jedi retribution.

That was not his life.

Maul set the _Infiltrator_ down a respectful distance from the brightest cluster. Still an easy walk, but not near enough to be perceived as an overt threat.

_Someone_ thought he was a threat anyway: the moment his foot touched Dathomir's russet soil, a glowing plasma arrow flew in from his left. He dodged it, rolled, and came up with his lightsaff in hand in time to deflect three more.

"I am here to see Mother Talzin!" he called over the deep thrum of the crimson blades.

Two more arrows were the only response.

There. He pinpointed the source and threw himself forward, calling on the Force to enhance his speed to a blur. The Force was with his opponents as well: he dodged another flurry of shots in the short distance.

His target was high up in a tree; Maul launched himself the last few metres and caught her with a kick to the shoulder, knocking her from her perch and the energy bow from her grip. They tumbled to the ground, and only Maul's rigid self-control prevented his opponent from being seared by the blade in his hand. A brief grapple ended with his lightsaber at her throat, one foot pinning her wrist to the ground along with the wicked-looking knife she'd pulled.

He could sense three others preparing to fire. "You shoot me, your sister dies!"

"Kill it!" his opponent rasped through bared teeth. With her hood knocked askew, he could see she was humanoid and ghost-pale, face marked with indigo tattoos, silvery eyes seeming to glow in the violet half-light.

Maul growled under his breath. "You overestimate my interest in killing anyone here. My Master demands Mother Talzin pay her debt to him."

Another voice called, _"Hold!"_ in a tone that indicated its owner would much prefer to do the opposite. He sensed them abandon their concealment and approach, arrows still aimed at his back.

"Let her up."

The trust game. He didn't play it easily. Maul hesitated a moment longer before withdrawing. He remained on guard as she rolled to her feet, glaring at him, blade at the ready.

"A _Nightbrother_ has no right to make demands of Mother Talzin," one of the others scoffed.

Nightbrother. He'd run across the term in his research into his origins several years before, but the way the woman said it, as though the word tasted foul, brought his lip up in a snarl. "Perhaps you missed the part where I speak for my Master, Lord Sidious."

The four of them hesitated. "Lord Sidious has no more claim on Mother Talzin than you do, Nightbrother," the one he'd knocked from the tree declared.

Maul arched a brow-ridge at her. "And yet you stay your hand. Let Mother Talzin decide what claim my Master may or may not have."

The one with the knife straightened from her crouch and pointed the blade at his lightsaber. "You will put that away and follow me. If you draw your weapon again, we will kill you where you stand."

He didn't need them; Maul knew precisely where he needed to go. He could kill all four of them before they could twitch.

But he did need this Mother Talzin's goodwill and cooperation, and he likely wouldn't get it if he killed her daughters. He extinguished his staff and hooked it to his belt.

The woman with the knife looked disappointed. "Speak only when spoken to-"

"I am not one of your Nightbrothers, to be tamed and commanded," he interrupted quietly. "I cooperate because I choose to. Do not make me change my mind."

The woman's lips thinned and she straightened her hood with a jerk and then turned on her heel. Maul followed at a respectful distance, noting the surroundings now that he was no longer fighting four concealed opponents.

The ground was an unpleasant, ashy slurry which clung to the soles of his boots; the trees were shrivelled, twisted things, stunted from a lack of sunlight. They were dotted here and there with patches of luminescent moss which drew clouds of small, glossy insects to pollinate both plant species; the insects in turn drew flying creatures with leathery wings and glittering dark eyes.

The Nightsisters attempted to blindfold him, and it was all he could do to prevent himself from dislocating one's arm. It sparked another argument: they claiming he could not know how to reach their village, he claiming not to care. But he refused to let them take his sight and then lead him astray into the bogs. They were again at an impasse, and Maul was growing impatient.

He awoke staring at a high stone ceiling.

"The only reason you still live is because I feel the bond between you and your Master," a woman's deep, resonant voice said softly. It seemed to emanate from the air around him, and Maul sat up cautiously, glaring around him.

He'd been left on a stone block like a platform in the centre of a large open room, with four round columns supporting the ceiling. His lightstaff was still attached to his belt, which suggested either confidence in his captors or utter foolishness; Maul suspected it was the former. The room was otherwise empty. It also didn't appear to have a door.

"You wished to speak your Master's words to me. I am listening."

"You are Mother Talzin?" he demanded.

"I am." She sounded amused. "If you would ask for proof, there is none I could give you, for you were too young to remember me. What does Sidious want?"

Maul suppressed his rising irritation and took a breath. The Force was here, and it answered his call. She was in the room with him, concealed behind carefully crafted illusions. Several Nightsisters were, as well, with plasma bows aimed at his head and chest. He took another breath, let it out, and remembered Lord Sidious' words. "You know why I am here."

"Yes, but I wonder if you do."

Riddles and word games. Maul's teeth clenched on his initial impulsive answer and gave it more thought. "There is a threat to my Master, a threat he wishes me to face and destroy. He believes I will need support to accomplish this task."

"And why would he send you against such a formidable foe, if he is so powerful himself?"

The answer was one Maul had known for years. "Because I am expendable. Because I might succeed in weakening the enemy enough that my Master might complete the task."

"How very self-aware of you." A towering, pallid woman wrapped in crimson robes appeared before him as the illusion dropped; the rest of the Nightsisters remained concealed, but Maul could sense their displeasure. "This was your home once; the very ground sings to you, does it not?"

Maul nodded once, sharply. He knew, academically, that Sidious had claimed him from Dathomir; he'd suspected that the debt owed by Talzin had something to do with him.

"Your Master wronged me by taking you, my son." She moved around the platform where he sat, her paces so smooth she might have been floating, the long train of her robe trailing on the stone floor. "He lied to me. Did he tell you that? He lied and made grand promises, and then he stole you, still but a child barely able to walk. And now… _now_ your Master, the man who lied to me and who took that which was not his to claim, says there is an enemy more powerful than even you, and begs for _my_ help. Who is this enemy?"

He fought his instinct to turn and follow her movement as she circled behind him. "We don't have a name. We know of his servant, an Apprentice called Davine; Davine has indicated that he answers to another, a Sith Lord of greater power."

"Has he? And why might he have revealed such information, if remaining concealed is to his Master's benefit?" She came back into view and gave a flowing shrug that used her entire body. "Pure speculation."

A frown creased Maul's face. "You mean he lied. Why would he lie?"

"Why does any man lie?" Talzin's dark lips curled in a grim smile. "Your Master demands much. Come with me."

None of the Nightsisters followed them out. Talzin led him through winding halls in a structure far larger than any that had shown up on his ship's scanner; when they emerged they were in the rocky foothills beyond the bog.

"I know what your Master _expects_ of me. But what he expects and what you _need_ are two very different things." She stopped and turned to him. "The choice is yours, my child."

He frowned. "What's the difference?"

"Your Master expects me to empower you. But what you need is to _be empowered."_ She gave him a level stare as if she hadn't just uttered complete nonsense.

Maul clenched his teeth on his frustration. "That makes no sense."

She smiled thinly. "Think of it this way: I can make you stronger. Or, I can help you learn strength."

Riddles again. They clearly weren't going to go any further until he chose one. It was clear which she favoured, and… if he was honest, he liked that it was not what Lord Sidious expected. "I wish to learn strength, Mother."

Her only response was to turn and follow the path through the withered trees; when they reached a place where the trail forked, she turned to the right. It ended at a large compound - no, a _village_ \- sheltered by the hills. This hadn't shown on his ship scanners, either, and Maul tried not to look like he was staring around in interest as he followed her through the cluster of shabby-looking huts.

Where the people in the Nightsisters' citadel had all been pale, apparently female, and hornless, every single person they passed in the village appeared male, and bore striking black markings on brightly hued skin, their heads crowned with an array of horns.

They looked like _him._

And every one of them knelt facing the dirt, not just out of respect but out of _fear,_ as Mother Talzin passed. Something about it all settled uneasily in his gut.

Talzin paused beside one man, who glanced up only as far as her knees. _"Ke'chul'a mai, Manan?"_

_"Ve'nat a'me, Viscus. A'tienen Shiila'n ge."_ She turned to Maul as the man stood and hurried away. "In order to learn strength, you must _teach_ strength. You will choose a hunt-brother."

This was _definitely_ not what Lord Sidious would be expecting. Maul hesitated. "I must _teach?"_ Only an apprentice could claim an acolyte; an acolyte couldn't claim students. The odds of Lord Sidious killing anyone Maul chose were high.

"It is only in sharing our knowledge that we learn what we do not know, and only in raising another that we ourselves may rise." She placed her frigidly cold hand on his shoulder and gently turned him towards a gap between the buildings. A number of young men were gathering in a line in the open space, which might generously be called a village square. "Choose wisely, my child. Listen to what the spirits tell you."

The _spirits,_ what the Nightsisters called the Force, had been whispering in Maul's ear ever since he arrived here. He moved forward, knowing instinctively that she was only a few paces behind him, and paused before the line of people waiting for him. For a moment, he wondered what they saw in him. He may have been theirs once, but now he was a stranger wearing strange clothes and bearing strange weapons, with no memory of their ways or language.

He would have much to learn.

Slowly, reaching out with his senses, he passed down the line. Some reeked of resentment or impatience, and these he ignored entirely. A few were complacent, too comfortable with the way things were to seek more than they were given. Others were selfish, prone to fighting for that which they were not owed.

Maul gave the entire line, almost fifty young men near his own age, full consideration before stepping back. He needed someone with patience and energy; someone who sought more but with consideration to what they could handle. A true _hunt-brother._

He paused in front of one, yellow-skinned and slightly taller than him, barely out of boyhood. The Force whispered of one who had grown up among the Nightsisters but chosen the way of the brothers instead: one who knew what he needed for himself and was unafraid to seek it. "What is your name?"

Green eyes blinked at him in surprise. "Savage."

The words came from the whispers in Maul's mind, a formal request that held notes of ceremony. "Would you come with me, beyond the stars, to be my hunt-brother: student and teacher both?"

Savage hesitated, and the much shorter, yellow-skinned man beside him, a scant few Standard years Maul's senior, prodded him with a bony elbow. "Brother, take it!"

"But who will look after you?"

Maul gave the older one a closer look, the whispers rising until they were almost deafening. The man was thin and looked sickly, but the bond between him and Savage was obvious, as was the potential twined within his fragile bones. "What is your name?"

The smaller man had the same vivid green eyes: brothers by blood as much as by kinship. "Feral."

It was pushing the limits of what Talzin had offered, selecting two when she had said one. But the pull on Maul's mind couldn't be ignored: they were a matched set. "Would you also come with me, beyond the stars, to be my hunt-brother: student and teacher both?"

There was an audible hiss down the line, and the one Talzin had initially spoken to, who had not stood to be chosen, protested, "This is not done!"

Maul kept his focus on the brothers, intent on their reactions as they glanced at each other. "I have made my choice as the spirits demanded. It is up to them whether they accept." His back was to Talzin, which prickled the fine hairs on the back of his neck, but his only impression from her was…

Pride.

Reassured that his breach of tradition hadn't offended the one person who might actually hurt him, he put the concern from his mind. The brothers had conferred, it seemed, without saying a word. Together they bowed their heads and Savage said, "We accept your offer, hunt-brother."

"I am Maul," he said softly. "And you are welcome with me."

* * *

They had seen ships before, usually freighters piloted by the rare outsiders the Mother traded with, but rarely one so small; it was sleek and sharp, like a blade ready to strike. When he saw there were only two bunks, Feral had been prepared to sleep on the floor. He had often lost the fight for comfort before Savage - formerly Sevajj, before making his choice on the cusp of puberty - had come to the village. But their new brother insisted the lower bunk was for Feral, and he… wasn't entirely certain what to make of the younger man's deference.

Feral had always been sickly; a plague of severe illness that had swept the village in his childhood had nearly ended his life and left his right leg crippled, and his elders hadn't seen fit to waste energy on a youngling who would be unable to hunt. He had been good at making things with his hands - tools and trinkets, jewelry of wood and bone and clay - and at mending clothes, and had bartered for his survival until Savage had come along. His younger brother had joined the hunting parties, and shared his portion. They had the same mother, they knew that much, but as was the Nightsisters' way, Feral had been given over to the Nightbrothers once he had been able to walk. Savage too had been abandoned to the village once he had made his choice; he had sought Feral out with great deliberation, and rarely left his side when not hunting.

That was the way things had been. Feral glanced at his younger brother and saw him looking back with the same question in his eyes: how would things be with Maul?

The strange Zabrak invited them to come forward and watch as he piloted the ship away from their homeworld. The pull of the floor under their feet changed as they rose into the air, and Feral couldn't help taking a few tentative steps, marvelling at the almost buoyant sensation.

"Artificial gravity," Maul said in that soft, accented voice of his. "Without it, we would be floating."

"That might be fun," Savage ventured, and Maul laughed quietly.

"Or you might feel sick to your stomach. It's fairly common."

"Why?"

Maul hesitated and looked up at Savage. "I actually have an answer for that, but I'm not sure…. Have you ever spun around very fast?"

Both Savage and Feral nodded; spinning had been fun as children, although at some point as they got older, they had simply stopped. Feral wondered why they had ceased that particular activity.

"You know feeling dizzy then. In species like ours, there's fluid within our ears, and it helps us balance." He tapped the side of his head just in front of his ear. "The pull of the ground on that fluid helps our bodies know which way is up. But if there's no ground pulling, the fluid doesn't know where the ground _is._ And sometimes that makes people feel sick."

"I thought perhaps it might be because all the things inside us would also float," Feral said. "I've helped our healers before." He had seen quite a bit of Furie's insides when he'd been gored badly by a dsekket; the healers had brought Feral in because he was so good with stitching.

Maul tilted his head as he pulled back on the controls; they didn't feel any change, but the horizon tilted down and almost below the range of the round window. "That might also be a factor."

The sky vanished as the clouds swallowed them, and then they were beyond the limit of the cloud into the clear air, and the sky rapidly darkened until it was deepest black speckled with stars. Feral couldn't stop his gasp at the sight; the sun cut the darkness from their left and cast a brilliant glare on the frame of the window, but it no longer concealed the night. "I have… _many_ questions. You might not be able to answer them all."

"I will show you how to find all the answers." Maul seemed to realise something and cast a swift glance at Feral. "Can you read?"

Feral and Savage exchanged another look. "Not in your language."

Their brother's hands hesitated on the controls and then he tapped a panel several times, bringing the ship around in a new direction. "I'll make you a deal. You teach me your language, I will teach you to read Basic. And Sith," he added thoughtfully. "You'll need to learn that, too."

"What's... Sith?" Savage asked, hesitating over the unfamiliar word.

"It's what I am. What I will teach you to be. We have our own languages." He glanced over his shoulder at them, offering a grin that held both mischief and pride. "We are the best hunters in the galaxy. But you should hold on, now. We're going to speed up." When he was satisfied they had secured their grips to bars set into the walls, he pulled a large lever in the middle of the panel, and the stars parted.

* * *

_Reformation Year 981.03.19  
Outland Transit Station_

Jango rolled his eyes and closed the message he'd been reading. Skirata was getting edgy wondering where the fuck he'd disappeared to. Jango had another two weeks before those long-necked bastards needed him back for another round of samples. If the Cuy'val Dar really needed babysitting, they weren't worth their reputations.

Granted, his regular run back to Mandalore to collect messages had been delayed significantly by that side trip to Mustafar. Waiting around on the station for Scogar to be back on his feet again had only made sense; the man had over a hundred people to rehome and letting them languish here wasn't the best idea.

In his more pessimistic moments, he mocked himself for sticking around for the other mercenary's recovery. He'd eventually had to admit to himself that being called a _friend_ by Scogar had left a warm feeling in his chest that had lingered; the way the younger man had glanced away, as if afraid of Jango's reaction, had hurt. It was dangerous, getting close to someone again, in any capacity.

But knowing there was someone who would back him up without question? A tension he hadn't realised had built up in his shoulders and spine eased noticeably. There was someone watching his back again, someone who didn't care what Jango could offer them, someone who didn't care about the money. And Jango wanted to keep that.

He found Scogar with his crew finalizing a full workover of both the _Veeka_ and the _Sunflare;_ just because they trusted Ohnaka to a dangerous degree didn't mean they trusted his crew to leave their ships alone on Florrum.

"Everything where you left it?"

Phel was frowning in confusion. "I think they _upgraded_ my turrets. And installed a missile launcher?"

Scogar hopped off the top of the _Aka'jor-_class shuttle and wiped his hands on the thighs of his coveralls, looking disgruntled. "They did. I'm going to have words with Hondo. Just because it's an upgrade doesn't mean we want it. Not without being asked first."

Jango's eyes narrowed, recognising a Force-assisted landing when he saw one. Scogar was still not entirely back up to scratch, if he was cushioning himself like that. "Where's the rugrat?"

Scogar had his comm out, irritably tapping at the screen; he gestured loosely back to where Imdohara and Pulkka were working on the _Sunflare._ "With Zoh, he wanted to see our ship."

Taking it as open permission, Jango made his way over, throwing an insolent salute to Scogar's crew; Imdohara made a rude gesture back and went back to whatever she was doing on the stabiliser.

He was a damned _bounty hunter._ And they didn't seem to give even half a shit about him being around now. Old instincts prickled the nerves down his back, still expecting a sucker shot.

_Been in combat too long._

The interior of the ship smelled of spicy cooking, someone's perfume, with a faint whiff of incense and coolant. Zohli definitely lived here: non-essential wall panels had been painted in bright patterns, and strings of what looked like hand-made paper or clay beads ran along the ceiling and hung along doorways, anchored with small staples. Music was playing somewhere, rhythmic and cheerful, and he followed it around the gunwell curve to the secondary cargo hold, which had been made over into a small workout space. The kids were there, playing with a training blaster set, Zohli coaching Boba through taking the toy weapon apart.

Great. He was going to have to keep a sharper eye on his Westars after this. And possibly hide the cleaning kit.

He scuffed a boot so as not to startle them, and noted with approval how Zoh's free hand immediately settled on the grip of the real blaster strapped to her thigh. Scogar had been training her well.

_"Buir!_ Look what Zozo showed me!" Boba announced, holding the training blaster up for inspection. He'd tried to reattach the barrel backwards and put the trigger guard in the wrong position, and Zohli was doing a terrible job maintaining a straight face. Jango met her eyes and winked; her shoulders relaxed a little at his approval.

"I see! That's a decent training set," he said, noting the targets propped around the room.

_"Dimo_ Hondo gave it to me. Well, to _At'tha,_ but-" Zohli added quickly. Jango nodded understanding: Scogar didn't need a trainer set like this, so it had technically been for her.

_"Dimo?"_

"Uh. Uncle." She blushed a little. "He's kinda family, and it feels weird calling him _mister."_

"That means _ba'vodu!"_ Boba chirped, and Jango wanted to cover his face. The last thing he needed was his kid latching onto _Ohnaka,_ too. He resisted the urge and simply nodded.

"That's right, Boba."

Zoh accepted the toy back as Boba hopped up to give Jango a hug. _"At'tha_ said we're going with you to Mandalore?"

Jango nodded and scooped Boba up; his eyes watered when the toe of Boba's boot nailed his IT band below the hip. "But my ship's a little too small for four people, unless you like hot-bunking-" he grinned as Zohli pulled a face- "so the whole crew is coming. Might as well, anyway."

"What do we wear on Mandalore?"

She was nervous already - probably worried about what the _Mando'adë_ would think of her and her father. Jango gestured for her to lead the way out and said, "Whatever you want. But if you want to make an impression in Keldabe, you wear your armour and blasters."

"Really?" She frowned as she passed him. "I thought the _Mando'adë_ hid that they were armed from the New Mandalorians?"

Scogar had either been answering a _lot_ of questions for the last few days, or she'd been putting the HoloNet to good use. "You're obvious offworlders just visiting. And there are a number of _Mando'adë_ mercenaries who will wear their _beskar_ until they get home."

"But we don't have _beskar'gam."_

That was an interesting mental image. "Not right now, no, but by going armoured, you show that you take your role as a mercenary seriously. If the _Mando'adë_ accept your dad, you'll likely earn your own _beskar'gam_ for yourself."

She paused at the bottom of the ramp to turn and give him an incredulous stare. "That easily?"

Jango shook his head. "The _Mando'adë_ don't just accept anyone. Your dad will have to work for it. And so will you."

Zoh made a thoughtful noise and headed back towards her dad. "Bet that'll be loads of fun." She really was learning too well from Bastra; Jango couldn't tell if she was being sarcastic or sincere.

Scogar himself was in the _Veeka'_s cockpit running systems checks, and Boba squirmed until Jango let him down to give the other man a hug. The lights on the panel looked happy, at least, and Jango commented on it.

Pulling Boba onto his lap where he could mind the curious little hands, Scogar nodded. "Hondo's people are a pack of scruffy nerf-herders, but they do know how to not break a ship." He still looked put out as he added, "One of their ships needed a new set of laser cannons and the mechanics, ah, _borrowed_ Phel's. The new upgrades were Hondo's way of apologising. He might have even been genuinely angry at them when he got home and found out. It's hard to tell when he's acting sometimes."

"Shouldn't borrow without asking," Boba declared with his fiercest attempt at a frown.

"Exactly. But at least Hondo tries to take care of his friends," Jango said neutrally. "What's the projection?"

Scogar shrugged and let Boba down before climbing out of the pilot's chair. "The _Sunflare_ was untouched, just a perpetually fussy stabiliser that needs adjustment regularly. We're good to leave tomorrow morning, if that suits you?" He seemed hesitant: for everything relating to this run to Mandalore, he'd been deferring to Jango. Probably nerves, just like Zohli.

Jango gave an easy nod. "Works for us. How about it, Boba? Want to show Zohli what home is like?"

"Yeah!"

"Phel coming along?"

The person in question appeared at the doorway. "Nope. I have a job and a boyfriend I'm kinda missing right now. Heading back to Corellia. You sure about this? You know what those Mandalorian types are like." Xe gave Jango a teasing sideways glance as xe bent over to check a readout, and Jango grinned.

"I'm not the one he needs to worry about."

Phel turned and leaned back against the edge of the console, looking from Jango to Scogar, then at Jango again. "Well, I dunno about that. But that's between you two."

Scogar rolled his eyes. "I'm going to tell Val about the time you-"

"So this one time, when we were on a job on Ryloth," Phel interrupted with a vicious grin.

"We are _not_ talking about Ryloth!"

"Are you _sure?_ I bet Fett would get a kick out of hearing it."

"Ugh, I hate you," Scogar retorted affectionately, reaching over to ruffle Phel's blue-dyed hair spikes.

"That's cus I keep you humble," Phel replied with a smug grin.

Jango arched an eyebrow at xir. "You can comm me later and tell me all about it where he can't defend himself."

_"Hey_ now-"

"Or he can tell me himself and spare the embarrassment," Jango offered. "It's a three-day trip to Mandalore from here. Plenty of time to chat." He was _really_ curious about Ryloth now.

Scogar sighed. "If you really want to know, sure. Join us for dinner?"

Jango hesitated. It wasn't like he and Boba wouldn't be seeing them for months again. But he was loathe to leave the easy camaraderie so quickly. "Sure."

* * *

Travelling in tandem with another ship was an enjoyable experience, less isolating and lonely than travelling singly, and it was easy to see how the concept of trading convoys formed. Because they shared their bubble in hyperspace, ship to ship communication was still possible, and they took advantage of it. Zoh and Boba read stories to each other - or made them up themselves, making peals of laughter ring through the _Sunflare_ as they got increasingly absurd. Obi-Wan did eventually give Jango the full story about Ryloth, and resigned himself to being snickered at for voluntarily having Dee shoot him.

At the same time, though, it felt good to share the more ridiculous shenanigans with someone, particularly someone who could appreciate the ignominy of events going sideways. Jango had his own series of stories to tell, and if he hesitated a bit and his voice cracked over mention of _Mando'adë_ he'd known before Galidraan, Obi-Wan pretended not to hear it.

It helped set them both at ease by the time they reached Mandalore. Jango's pain would eventually fade, and he'd be able to remember the warmth of his life before; talking about it in his own time would help. For his part, Obi-Wan appreciated the reminder that, while Mandalorians presented a stern front, they were still people; as goofy and mischievous and flawed as anyone else.

He'd initially suggested that Feid, Pulkka, and Deesix would be welcome to join them in the city, but by the time they landed he had a feeling that… well, nothing was _wrong,_ but that it might be better if it was only himself and Zohli with Jango.

Pulkka gave him a knowing look. "This visit is about you and the Mandalorians. We would only complicate matters."

"You're still family," he protested, and she hugged him.

"We're still outsiders here. The port district will be better for us."

When he walked down the _Sunflare'_s ramp into the heat of a Keldabe summer, dressed in full armour and with an equally armoured Zohli just behind him, Obi-Wan felt as prepared as he possibly could.

Zoh leaned in against his side, and Obi-Wan wrapped his arm around her shoulders. "Ready, sweetheart?"

She nodded, the flare of her helmet crest scraping lightly against the panel on his jacket. "I kinda feel like we're trying to look tougher than we are, though, and that someone is gonna challenge us to prove it."

He smiled although his own helmet concealed it. "If that happens, leave it to me. But don't sell yourself short, Zoh. You know what you're capable of." She was much better than she realised, but his daughter also had no frame of reference beyond himself, the rest of their family, and Jango. Everyone she compared herself to except Phel had been trained from childhood, making them the exceptions rather than the norm.

Jango and Boba met them outside their hangar. Boba was dressed in everyday clothes, but Jango was in head to toe _beskar'gam_ complete with his jetpack, _buy'ce_ tucked under his arm. Not for the first time, Obi-Wan mused that it was a good look for the other man. Jango gave them both a once-over visual inspection and nodded.

"Relax, Zoh. You look like you wear that armour almost every day. Nobody's going to think you're pretending."

Zohli straightened and Obi-Wan let her go. "I do wear this armour almost every day."

A grin tugged at Jango's cheek and he put his helmet on. "Exactly. Stay close. The city can get busy in places."

It was, in fact, _very_ busy this close to the height of the afternoon. Jango didn't take them straight to their destination but led a leisurely path through the bustling market district, stopping here and there to speak to people. He was both giving Obi-Wan and Zohli a chance to see the city, and very deliberately showing anyone who cared that they were under his protection.

Boba didn't seem concerned at all, cheerfully greeting people who remembered him and at one point accepting a honey-stick from one of the vendors. There was a particular set to Jango's shoulders, however, that indicated that he was ready to stand up to any challenge. Clearly things were still tense as far as his acceptance by the _Mando'adë_ was concerned.

What struck him the most about Keldabe was its cheerful chaos. People of all species in a wild array of fashions ebbed and flowed through thoroughfares lined with brightly-painted awnings. The shops with their open fronts offered everything from foodstuffs to clothing; a smithy operated by an older human woman crafted and repaired items while customers watched. _Bes'laarurcyë_ at the street corners competed to make the most head-turning noise; some had dancers performing in tandem. Even Sundari's Festival was orderly and placid by comparison, and this was just an average week-day.

Zoh's hand found Obi-Wan's and he squeezed gently. "Doing alright?" he asked, using the private comm channel they shared with Jango.

_"It's… a lot. Of everything."_

_"Almost there,"_ Jango said softly. _"Needed to build people's curiosity. You're gonna get grilled, but they'll be nice about it."_

_"Will they?"_

Jango laughed and picked Boba up when the boy complained that his feet hurt. _"Well, your dad'll get the worst of it."_

"Wonderful," Obi-Wan replied dryly. "I can't wait."

The cantina Jango took them to had a simple sign over the door depicting a pre-technological Mandalorian hut. The inside was quiet, so far, only a few tables hosting the earliest of the evening crowd. The bartender, a red-haired human woman with a cybernetic right arm, glanced over as the door opened and grinned at Jango.

"There you are! Was beginning to wonder if you got stuck somewhere again."

Obi-Wan spoke up before Jango could say anything. "Nope, that was me this time." He caught Jango's sidelong grin as the other man removed his _buy'ce;_ following his example, Obi-Wan and Zoh pulled their helmets and hung them from the clips on their belts.

The woman raised both brows at him. "So you're the one he's been working with."

"I don't know if I'd say that." Obi-Wan caught Jango's gesture to go ahead to the bar; the other man took Boba over to one of the tables to say hello to the group of three sitting there.

"No?" The bartender gave him a critical once-over as he and Zohli approached, putting her hand out to shake.

"We've been… acquainted only a short while. Scogar Bastra. My daughter, Zohli."

The woman's smile broadened at that. "Neve Uresgai. The _T'adyc Yaim_ is mine," she added, gesturing to the bar at large. "Which reminds me. Fett! Staying here tonight, or camping like an _aruetii_ in your ship again?"

Still talking with the group, Jango gestured an affirmative without turning around.

Neve quirked a grin. "I'm guessing you'll be staying, too. I'll get a couple of the rooms upstairs ready for you."

Obi-Wan really wanted to know what she'd done to earn the surname _'nameless'_ and almost missed what Neve said. "We have a ship-"

"You really want to stagger halfway back across the city after a _Mando'adë_ welcome?" She leaned on the bar. "What can I get for you, other than Jango's usual?"

Obi-Wan glanced at Zohli. "You're legal here, if you want."

His daughter frowned for a moment. "Not right now. Do you have Jampi?"

"Meiloorun, chocolate, kadja, or kwanu?"

"Kadja, please."

"How 'bout you, Bastra?"

Obi-Wan ordered one of the local _ne'tra gal_ brews that he'd learned about from Tovari, earning himself an approving nod. Zoh accepted her soda and headed over to Jango while Obi-Wan paid. Neve's hand settled over his as he set the credits on the bar and she leaned forward.

"Between you and me, Jango never brings anyone back here. It's not his style. You're drawing a lot of curious eyes, Bastra. Mind yourself here in Keldabe," she warned quietly.

Obi-Wan blinked and frowned. There was something vaguely familiar about Neve from this range. "You think someone will give us trouble?"

"Maybe. Or maybe they just want to test your mettle."

He swallowed. "I'll keep that in mind."

She released his hand with a pleasant smile and pushed the credits back. "I'll start a tab for you. It's good to see him socializing more. Whatever you're doing, keep doing it."

"I'm not doing anything," Obi-Wan protested, but she merely gave him a knowing look and moved on to the next person.

Jango introduced Obi-Wan and Zohli to people as the place steadily filled; eventually they claimed seats at the bar and ordered food, Boba happily bouncing on the tall stool despite his father's warnings. Everything seemed relaxed and convivial, but there was an undercurrent of tension focused on him, as Mandalorians sized him up. Zohli, he was relieved to see, was given a pass: she was still young enough to be considered _verd'ika_ and answerable to her adult guardian.

But something was going to happen. It was just a question of what and when.

* * *

Zohli was beginning to understand what her _at'tha_ meant about different planets being the same in their own unique ways. Keldabe reminded her of Nar Shaddaa, of Coronet City, of the _Outland,_ but it was still uniquely Mandalorian and not Nar Shaddaan or Corellian. It was a little overwhelming but also comfortable: there were just more people in the crowd.

The tapcafe was different. Here, Mr Fett had everyone's attention, and as he drew that attention to Zoh and her dad, things were getting… tense. It wasn't a _bad_ sort of tense, but eventually someone was going to say something, probably ask her dad to prove himself. It happened all the time in the holos. She didn't think anyone would ask _her:_ everyone seemed to understand that she was still training. _Verd'ika_ \- young warriors - didn't have anything to prove, or so Mr Fett had said.

The biggest difference between here and other places was that nobody seemed surprised that she and her _at'tha_ were different species or so close in age, and nobody asked. Adoption was common here, common enough that it was practically expected.

She was just returning their empty dishes to the bar, Boba clinging to the hem of her jacket, when someone tapped her shoulder.

"Hi!"

Zoh turned, still feeling the pleasant fire of whatever their dinner had been marinated in on the back of her tongue. A humanoid girl about her own age was standing there, smiling. She seemed to be mixed species, with dark orange skin and two rows of small horns running back over her hairless head; short, thick lekku hung where a human's ears might be, ending in longer curved horns that rested on her shoulders. "I'm Kuura. You're Zohli?" She held her hand out, and Zoh grasped her wrist in greeting.

"Yeah, nice to meet you." She hoped. She really, truly hoped this was good. There hadn't been any other kids her age around until now.

Kuura's grin brightened. "We were wondering if you wanted to _really_ see the city while your _buir_ is busy."

"We?" Zohli followed Kuura's aimed finger to a group of other young teens near the door, looking their way hopefully. Most of them were wearing regular clothes, like Kuura, but a couple had simplified _beskar'gam-_styled armour.

Before she could say anything more, the bartender barked, "Kuura! Mahvi! Where are you planning to take her?"

Kuura and one of the other kids went wide-eyed. "The adults are doing boring adult stuff, _Cabur_ Neve," said Mahvi; he looked like he was likely Kuura's brother. "We were going to show her the fun parts of Keldabe. The _safe_ fun parts!" he added hurriedly as Neve's eyes narrowed.

"As long as you don't get her into trouble, and don't get her _lost,"_ Neve said firmly. "And if her _buir_ comms, you make sure she gets back here. No playing pranks on the new _ad."_

"Yes, _Cabur_ Neve!"

Zohli looked over for her _at'tha_ for permission; he was already watching with a secretive little grin, and she recalled all the stories he'd told her about getting into trouble as a kid. He nodded and said something that was probably _"take Boba"_ except it was getting hard to hear through the crowd and the music. She grinned and tapped her ear to let him know she remembered her comm, and he laughed.

Zoh took Boba's hand and Kuura took Zoh's; the _Mando'ad_ girl pulled them through the crowd, squeezing past another group of people who were just arriving. "Do you know any Mando'a?" she asked.

"I've been teaching her!" said Boba.

Blushing, Zohli stumbled through, "_Ni hibir."_

Mahvi was practically bouncing with impatience. "We can teach you more! Especially all the _best_ words the official language books leave out!"

A Twi'lek girl waiting outside for the rest of them was bouncing a ball around using only her feet. "Yay! Hi! I'm Iisa! That's Fenn and Tobbi," she said, pointing to two sandy-haired human boys. "And that's Suwa, and the little one is her _vod'ika,_ Orrka." Suwa was also human, dark-skinned with a cloud of curly reddish hair, while Orrka had vibrant purple skin and tiny temple spikes similar to Zoh's. Orrka was also significantly younger than the others, young enough that she still sucked her thumb with her first finger curled over the end of her nose, and stared at Zoh silently with enormous silver eyes.

Everyone's energy was infectious, and Zoh found herself grinning as they started playfully arguing about what parts to show her and Boba first. She liked Keldabe already.

* * *

Obi-Wan was careful not to drink excessively, and so, he noted, was Jango. On one of his rare trips back to the bar, Neve reassured him that the kids Zoh and Boba had gone off with would take care of them.

"All the kids know me. If they ever need help and their people aren't around, they have my comm." She gave a crooked smile. "It's better for everyone's peace of mind. Mostly it's scrapes and bruises, but one time Kuura scaled one of the statues and couldn't get down. They're good kids, just mischievous."

"Weren't we all?" Obi-Wan replied, and she laughed.

"Some of us caused more trouble than most."

Nobody had actually asked why Obi-Wan was there, and he mentioned it to Jango during a lull in the conversation. Jango tilted his head one way, then the other. "The _Oyu'baat_ is where most _aruetii_ go. But if a _Mando'ad_ brings an _aruetii_ to the _T'adyc Yaim,_ it's only ever for other _Mando'adë_ to size them up." He shrugged and sipped his _gal._ "It's going in your favour so far."

"That can't last." The tension was crawling down his spine like ice water, and he couldn't place the source. He knew Zohli and Boba were safe, so it had nothing to with them, at least.

It didn't. Less than half an hour later, Obi-Wan sucked in a hard breath as the tension spiked, and there was a resounding _click-whine_ of a dozen blasters powering up. Neve's voice rang out in the sudden silence, hard and cold.

"You're not welcome here, Vizsla."

The man standing in the door was human, with a thick shock of pale blond hair swept back from his forehead. Unlike the majority of the people in the tapcafe, he was wearing full _beskar'gam_ in black and dark blue, as were the two people standing just behind him blocking the gaps. He smirked at the array of weapons pointed his direction and held his hands up as if to indicate that he wasn't armed, which was a joke. A Mandalorian was never unarmed.

Beside Obi-Wan, Jango growled quietly, and he spared half a moment to rifle his memory. Vizsla, but closer to Obi-Wan's age: likely related to Tor Vizsla, the former leader of Death Watch, the man who had set up the _Mando'adë_ and Jedi to fight each other on Galidraan and sparked off the last Mandalorian Civil War. Which had, incidentally, led to the death of Duke Adonai Kryze and the loss of Satine's older sister, putting her on the throne and in the line of fire.

He was beginning to understand the urge to aim a blaster at Vizsla's head.

"Now, now, Uresgai," Vizsla drawled. "I'm sure we can all be _civil?"_

"You wouldn't know civil if it punched you in the face." The expression of blistering hatred on Neve's face was echoed by many of the others in the crowd.

Vizsla slowly took one step, then another, descending the short stair with a swagger. "I just wanted to pay my respects to our _dear_ _Mand'alor."_ He aimed a mocking smile down the bar at Jango, who rose with an absolutely thunderous expression.

The other man slowly made his way over, slowed somewhat by _Mando'adë_ standing in his way to stare him down for a moment. But they all let him pass: the fight was between him and Jango, and nobody would deny Jango the right to hit Vizsla first.

Obi-Wan found himself on his feet and just behind Jango's right shoulder in a guard position; Vizsla's gaze drifted lazily sideways to meet his, and Obi-Wan realised that Vizsla was here because of _him._ Jango was, of course, the primary factor, but Jango was introducing an unknown quantity in Obi-Wan.

Vizsla was going to test him, and possibly shame Jango in the process, if he could.

"I see you found a new attack dog to replace Myles." Vizsla _tsk_ed as Jango audibly ground his teeth. "Large boots to fill. Are you certain he's up to it, _Fett?"_

* * *

Neve hissed through her teeth at Vizsla's emphasis on the Basic pronunciation of Jango's name. The man really was going all out to suggest that Jango was no longer _mandokarla_ enough for his role.

Ignoring the insult, Jango said, "What do you want, Vizsla?"

Vizsla pursed his lips and turned away, deliberately showing his back, and raised his voice so everyone in the room could hear him. "You've been away a very long time. One might think you had forgotten your duties to Mandalore. Perhaps you need a reminder." He paced as he spoke, scanning the faces in the room, a vicious twist to his lip when he caught Neve's eye. "You've brought _aruetiisë_ into our home, _Mand'alor._ Hoping to gain approval of their involvement? But one only knows another's measure by seeing them in battle. _Tion gar serim?"_ he demanded of the room at large.

Nobody spoke, unwilling to give him the benefit of affirmation, although it was clear there were some who agreed. Bastra had been offered a genial welcome, but it was the welcome of an _aruetii,_ an outsider; if Jango wanted his friend to be _accepted…_ well, there were certain cultural barriers that would need to be hurdled.

Turning back to Jango, the Death Watch leader reached back to grip the hilt sheathed between his back and his jetpack; the curved blade was silent as he drew and pointed it at Bastra. "I propose… a little _sparring match_ with your new friend. Let everyone see the _quality_ of the allies Jango Fett makes."

Before anyone could accept, refuse, or call Vizsla on his shit - the jeer was right on the tip of her tongue - Bastra shrugged and said, in his ridiculous, cultured Core accent, "It's rather tight quarters in here. Perhaps we should move this to the street. I'd hate to damage anything."

Vizsla smirked in triumph; a fight in the street would draw even more witnesses. If the kid failed….

It would reflect very poorly on Jango's judgment.

"Agreed!" Vizsla turned on his heel and headed for the door, a wave of morbidly curious people rising to follow.

Jango's expression was tightly closed, giving no indication of his feelings on the matter. He stayed by Bastra as the younger man came over to the bar and set his helmet there. "Water, please, Neve?"

As she handed him the glass, Neve whispered, "You don't have to do this, Bastra."

In between quick sips, he replied, "I may not be _required_ to, but we both know how it will look if I don't." He set the glass down, less than half consumed - smart, to not overload himself - and started to turn.

Neve gritted her teeth. "Vizsla cheats. Watch yourself."

"I'm not surprised," he said mildly, giving her a glance over his shoulder. "I've fought _Kyr'tsad_ before."

She desperately wanted to ask about that, but a hard glint in his eye silenced her. Sighing, Neve locked down the system and followed them out.

* * *

The crowd from the bar had already formed a loose circle in the street; some forward-thinking sentient had directed speeders to be parked lengthwise across the roadway at the nearest intersections to redirect traffic, and the obstruction was drawing the curious.

Obi-Wan took a bracing breath and blew it out, shaking the jangling nerves out of his arms. This was far from his first duel, but it might easily carry the highest stakes. Having Jango right there at his elbow put him a bit more at ease.

Vizsla was showboating despite the glares aimed his way. He turned, arms outstretched, and then stopped, staring at Obi-Wan as he feigned dismay. "Ah! Our _aruetii_ friend lacks a weapon of his own! We can't possibly spar like this. Surely someone here has a _beskad_ they could loan him?" Vizsla called to the growing crowd, and everyone suddenly hushed.

"That's significant. Jango, why is that significant?" Obi-Wan hissed quickly.

Jango's reply was equally clipped. "Because I don't carry a _beskad._ So someone else has to loan you one. But if you lose this fight, he gets to keep the weapon. So he's putting everyone on the spot to show faith in you, when they barely know you."

Two could play that game. Putting a pleasant smile on over the scowl he was feeling and turning back to the gradually widening ring of people, Obi-Wan called, "Oh, there's no need, really."

Vizsla smirked and looked him over. "Really?"

Obi-Wan locked eyes with the other man as he reached up under the back of his jacket, thumbed the sheath release, and drew his vibroblade. At just a bit longer than his forearm, the weapon lacked some length compared to Vizsla's _beskad_, but it was also a straight-edged, end-heavy weapon with a nasty clipped point - designed for breaking droids and cracking armour - that could counter the _beskad'_s curve. A murmur of surprise rippled through the crowd, and Vizsla's eyes narrowed. Obi-Wan offered him a cocky grin and gave the blade a little flourish, settling its weight in his hand. "I'll play nice: I won't turn it on."

He had no illusions this would start out like a friendly spar with Feid, with lightly testing each other before getting serious. Vizsla was perhaps a few years older than Obi-Wan, a handsbreadth taller, with a heavier build and longer reach, and a longer - albeit curved - weapon. They had both likely been training for the same amount of time. Vizsla was going to try to overpower him quickly and brutally, and the longer Obi-Wan dragged the fight out, the more likely Vizsla was to resort to any surprises tucked away in his vambraces.

They approached the center, and as Obi-Wan offered a salute, weapon held vertically in front of his face, Vizsla lunged with a strike that would have disemboweled him.

Obi-Wan hadn't expected Vizsla to even honour a salute; he sidestepped, feeling the tip of the _beskad_ skim his jacket, and swept the vibroblade down to knock the _beskad_ further away. Vizsla stumbled off-balance; Obi-Wan followed it up with a push-kick to his backside and then fell into a defensive stance.

And waited.

* * *

They'd ended up on a rooftop just down the street. Zohli had earned everyone's surprise and impressed comments for being able to scale a wall, and had admitted that Mr Fett had been teaching her the finer points of climbing without a support. _At'tha_ had already learned a long time before, but since he used the Force to defy gravity almost instinctively, he'd suggested Mr Fett would be the better teacher. She didn't explain that part: _at'tha_ had warned her that the _Mando'adë_ didn't have much love for Jedi.

The other kids were still impressed that she'd earned the chance to train with Boba's _buir._ She knew Mr Fett was important here, but it hadn't really sunk in just _how_ important he was.

"So does that mean he's, like… the best?" she asked as she accepted one of the packaged treats Iisa was handing around. Zoh braced her feet on the edge of the roof above the gutter and looked out across the city; the building was only four storeys tall, but the view from up here was great. The treat was a cluster of four sticky, doughy lumps rolled in crushed seeds and skewered on a stick, and she nibbled cautiously.

"Not exactly," Fenn said with his mouth full. He started to drool and wiped at his chin, grinning as Iisa made a face and threw a balled-up napkin at him. "The _Mand'alor_ needs to be able to defend their position when challenged, of course, but simply being 'the best' won't go very far. They need to be smart, cunning, fast, have good tactical sense, and - most importantly - they have to _want_ the job. There's loads of _Mando'adë_ who might be better fighters than him, but they're happy to follow his lead. If he makes mistakes, people can tell him so and suggest better ideas, and he needs to be willing to listen, not be too proud to admit he needs the help and advice."

"That's why when Montross challenged for the role, everyone backed _Mand'alor_ Fett," Tobbi said. "Montross would never have listened to anyone else, and he was _Kyr'tsad._ Nobody wanted that."

Zoh frowned. _At'tha_ had explained the difference between the _Mando'adë,_ the _Kyr'tsad,_ and the New Mandalorians before they arrived, and shown her which emblems to watch out for. "Was Montross leader of the _Kyr'tsad,_ too?"

Suwa snorted. "Montross wouldn't follow _anyone._ He didn't like taking Tor Vizsla's orders, so he tried to take over the _Mando'adë._ Our _buirë_ said he didn't want to fight Vizsla and thought _Mand'alor_ Jango's _buir,_ Jaster Mereel, was an easier target." She chewed her snack thoughtfully. "Nobody's seen Montross in years. Bet he tried to fight _Mand'alor_ Jango and lost."

"Nobody's seen a _bunch_ of people in years," Fenn argued. "They didn't _all_ fight him and lose."

"No, but I know _Cabur_ Midha sends messages to her _riduur,_ and she's been gone too," said Kuura. "The _Mand'alor_ brings _Cabur _Sikkaah's messages every time he visits."

Beside Zohli, Boba was practically vibrating. "I know where they are!" he blurted, then slapped a hand over his own mouth. "But I'm not s'pose ta tell. Issa contract," he mumbled through his fingers. Zohli sighed.

"Then you shouldn't have even said that much," she said gently. "Remember? Hunters never talk about our work."

"I'm sorry!"

She hugged him and he hid his face against her shoulder. Little kids had so much trouble keeping secrets!

Tobbi and Fenn - the only two who'd been wearing armour - were staring at her. "You're a hunter?" Tobbi asked, and Zoh felt the tips of her ears heat.

"My _at'tha_ is. He started letting me help a year ago when I turned thirteen Standard."

Fenn was nodding with open approval. "Teaching you properly." The other kids her age seemed to also approve, and Zoh relaxed a little more.

"Hey, what's going on down there?" Mahvi pointed down towards the tapcafe, and they all leaned forward to look. The sun was still high enough that the setting rays warmed the roof they sat on, but the shadows at street level had deepened enough for the lamps to come on, and a bunch of people were filling the street.

Fenn and Tobbi both hissed softly when a man in full black and blue _besker'gam_ came out. "That's Pre Vizsla! Tor's _ad,_ he took over the _Kyr'tsad_ after _Mand'alor_ Jango killed his _buir_ during the war," Fenn whispered. "What's he doing _here?"_

"He's got a _beskad_ out," Kuura said. "You don't think he challenged the _Mand'alor_, do you?"

"He'd be a complete _or'dinii_ to do that."

Zoh scanned the crowd gathering below. In the open circle, lamplight gleamed off copper-blond hair. "Oh no. He's challenged my dad."

* * *

If Jango had known that _that_ was what Scogar always carried up the back of his jacket, he probably would have been less concerned about letting him face down Vizsla. He'd assumed it was a stun prod of some sort, given the younger man's insistence on taking his bounties alive.

The first exchange of blows came and went, and Vizsla spun back to face Scogar, a snarl on his face.

The kid knew his business, Jango had to give him that much credit. It didn't look like he was relying on the Force at all, no flashy moves or handwave tricks. When the _Mando'adë_ learned the truth of him - and they would - this would be remembered.

The curve of Vizsla's _beskad_ would slide too easily along Scogar's inactive vibroblade, so Scogar wasn't trying to block with it, using the blade's weight for semicircle arcs that parried instead. Neither of them had scored more than surface scrapes on each other, and Scogar was fighting almost entirely defensively.

Vizsla was getting angry, more aggressive, and Jango wondered what his friend was playing at. He could probably have ended the fight in the first thirty seconds without breaking a sweat. That had been three minutes ago, and the strain was beginning to show.

Then he saw the _grin_ on Scogar's face and realised the crazy bastard had a plan after all.

* * *

He could have simply beaten Vizsla. It would have been easy, even using the Force only as much as necessary to know when and where to move.

But Neve had said, _"he cheats",_ and giving Vizsla a reason to break the terms of their current fight, in full view of what was now well over a hundred witnesses, would damage his reputation. It was a dirty move, but Vizsla had already chosen his target as a show of strength.

Obi-Wan was about to make a personal enemy, but also - hopefully - some very good friends.

He felt it a bare moment before it happened: as Vizsla charged, he engaged the flamethrower in his left vambrace. If the crowd reacted to the move, Obi-Wan didn't notice; he sidestepped left, keeping Vizsla's blade between himself and the gout of flame. As Vizsla took a swipe at him with the _beskad,_ Obi-Wan swept it away again, and then brought his vibroblade down across Vizsla's vambraces.

The inactive blade might not do more than scratch _beskar_, but it carved easily through the weapons packs. Hypercompressed gas vented from a ruptured fuel tank, catching Vizsla in the face and frosting his cheek and ear briefly; the fire guttered and went out. Vizsla snarled and jerked his head away from the stream, and Obi-Wan went back to a defensive stance, refusing to take advantage of the brief distraction. Vizsla still had his jetpack, but he was now limited with his weaponry.

The vambraces weren't large enough to contain a lot, and the leak was already tapering off. Vizsla wiped at his face, glaring. "You seem to think you're clever."

Obi-Wan grinned cheekily at him. "Well, someone had to keep you honest!" He shifted to offense before he'd finished speaking, driving into Vizsla's space and putting him on his back foot.

It was risky, getting within grappling range, and Vizsla took advantage of it. His elbow caught the right side of Obi-Wan's jaw; despite the stars clouding his vision, Obi-Wan dropped, ducking the blade he knew was following that elbow, and lashed out blindly with a kick that took Vizsla's left knee out from under him. Obi-Wan let the momentum carry him into a roll and regained his feet just as Vizsla launched himself forward with a burst from his jetpack; the impact of the _beskad_ against his vibroblade was jarring and forced Obi-Wan to stagger back. He covered his face with his arm as the hot jetwash sizzled over him.

Viszla was gaining altitude; whether he was running away or preparing for some sort of meteor strike, Obi-Wan didn't care to wait and find out. He drew one of his left-hand throwing knives and hurled it squarely into the fuel tank of Vizsla's jetpack. Compressed fuel _exploded_ from the puncture - he would probably never see that knife again - and the force of it sent the other man plummeting face first into the tarmac; he skidded a good few metres as the crowd parted.

Obi-Wan realised he was soaked with sweat and shaking, his breath coming in harsh gasps that burned the back of his throat. Strands of hair had come loose from where he'd tied them back, and hung damply in his face. Vizsla wasn't moving, although the Force told Obi-Wan the man was still very much alive; concussion, most likely. Keeping his guard up, he stalked forward.

Vizsla's two friends stepped in front of him, their blasters up, and found themselves at the centre of a circle of armed and angry _Mando'adë._ Tiredly, Obi-Wan fumbled his blade back into its sheath.

"Go take care of your boss. He needs a medic."

It took him a moment to realise that the sound that assaulted his ears was cheering; a surge of people surrounded him, clapping him on the back and shoulders in celebration. He grinned, feeling a bit dazed as strangers clasped his arm one after the other. At some point Neve showed up, shaking her head as she gave him a hug.

"You're insane, Bastra!"

"Why do you think Jango puts up with me?" he joked.

She snorted. "Vizsla did you a huge favour, kid. Come back to the bar when they're done with you."

Somehow, amid the crowd of people all pushing forward to touch him - his hands, his arms, his shoulders and back - Obi-Wan found his way back toward the _T'adyc Yaim._ Jango was waiting just outside the door, and Obi-Wan, exhausted, fell into his arms for a tight hug.

It happened so quickly, he wasn't even sure it had really happened: his lips pressed briefly against Jango's, and there was a quiet surge of pleasure before they were distracted by someone else clapping Obi-Wan on the shoulder and offering a word of appreciation. When he looked back, Jango was beckoning him through the door.

* * *

Neve pushed the remains of Bastra's water into his hand. "Hydrate yourself, _vod."_

He sipped at it obediently and leaned against the bar, looking a bit like he was shaking off a dream. "Did that really just happen?"

The entire fight had taken perhaps five minutes, tops, but everyone in her bar knew that even a one-minute intense spar could feel like forever. She handed him a cloth and a bottle of oil and said, "Clean your blade down," instead of offering a reply. Weapons maintenance was both necessary and therapeutic.

He stared at the vibroblade in his hand a moment before swearing softly. "Jango's going to kill me."

"Because you kissed him?"

The kid's eyes went wide. "You saw that?"

Neve gave up trying to hide her grin. "A lot of people saw that. I guarantee you he liked it."

"But-"

"If he didn't, you'd have ended up in a wall," she reminded him, and he sighed.

"I didn't ask permission, though. Just because someone liked it doesn't make that okay."

He seemed genuinely distressed, which was not helped by the sweat-soaked strands of hair escaping his warrior's knot to fall into his face. Neve leaned forward and rested her left hand on his arm. "You're overthinking it, _vod._ I can tell you with absolute certainty that Jango would have said yes if you'd asked." She studied his face carefully, noting the play of panic, anxiety, and longing there. "You care for him."

Bastra blinked at her. "Yes."

"And he cares about you." She smiled at his confusion. "That's all that matters. So clean your blade, Bastra, and enjoy the attention."

Most of the people who approached him asked where he had trained, how long he'd been in 'the business', and got beautifully descriptive answers that didn't answer the questions. Bastra was all charm, and most of the others seemed to buy it, or at least they were willing to accept that he didn't want to talk about it. Neve glanced over at Jango, who had returned to his table in the corner opposite the door. If she hadn't been paying as much attention to her _Mand'alor_ as to his friend during the fight, she might have missed the broad, appreciative grin that had spread across Jango's face as he'd watched. He was back to his usual impassivity, but one eye was always on Bastra, regardless of whom Jango was talking to.

It made her feel a little more confident about the rooms she'd had the droids make up for them.

* * *

Zohli, Boba, and the other kids had turned up a bit after things had calmed down. Obi-Wan's daughter had buried herself in his arms, exclaiming over how they'd seen the whole fight from the rooftop. One of the boys, Tobbi, had seen where Obi-Wan's throwing knife had gone, and they'd all gone on a house-climbing expedition to fetch it before returning. The knife was scorched and the edge badly nicked from puncturing Vizsla's jetpack, but otherwise undamaged.

Strong fingers plucked the weapon from his hand as he was reaching for Neve's blade oil; an older woman who looked like she could toss him around like a ragdoll inspected it critically.

"Serviceable, if nothing special. I'm surprised it didn't just bounce off." She turned the same critical eye on him. "That's quite a throw you have… Bastra."

Her raspy voice triggered a memory of two bounty hunters in the Sundari shadows during Satine's formal address. Her partner had suggested they not cross paths again, but she clearly wasn't in the business of revealing secrets. _"Mando'ad draar digu,"_ Obi-Wan acknowledged, and she tilted her head with a wry smile.

"Midha Krirr," she said, introducing herself. She offered the dagger back, hilt first. "When I'm not hunting with my _riduur,_ I'm a weaponsmith. I didn't expect to see you again, much less here and in this company. Made a name for yourself, have you?"

"Not so much," he admitted. "My crew and I rescued some slaves recently. Jango suggested they might find a home here."

That earned him a keen look. "Rescued slaves? What kind of skillsets do they have?"

"Mostly mechanical aptitude. Several were taken from trade caravans. The idea of having a quiet farm and a community to contribute to was appealing." That was going to be the hardest sell; the life of a Mandalorian often included combat. _Quiet_ was not necessarily a favourable factor.

Krirr looked thoughtful. "I'll have a word around. In the meantime, come by tomorrow, I'll fix that blade for you."

It was past midnight when Neve finally shooed the last customers out the front and locked up. "Well," she said with a grin, "That's going to be in the news tomorrow."

Obi-Wan frowned as Zohli leaned into his side. "I really hope I haven't made trouble for you."

The owner of the _T'adyc Yaim_ scowled. "Pre Vizsla came here looking to start a fight, and he picked you as his target for several reasons, none of which are your fault. His failure today is entirely on him, and even if he tries to make it your responsibility, there's several thousand _Mando'adë_ who know otherwise." She prodded him in the chest. "Just because your presence presented an opportunity for him doesn't mean it was your intention. C'mon. Stairs are back here."

The rooms she'd set up for them were more of a family suite, with a bunk bed for children in one room and a full-size double in the other; the rooms each had a comfortable-looking sofa with a low table, and shared a full 'fresher between them.

Obi-Wan winced and ran a hand back through his hair, feeling his face heat, but Neve was gone before he could correct her assumption. He glanced at Jango with a tight grin. "I see why they call it the _T'adyc Yaim._ I can sleep on the sofa-"

Jango's fingers closed on the front of his jacket, and the rest of the offer died on Obi-Wan's lips. Alright, maybe the kiss hadn't been wanted after all, and Jango had just been waiting to tell him off in private. He was certainly giving Obi-Wan an intense enough stare.

"I don't think," Jango said softly, taking a step closer, "that we were quite finished earlier." He dragged Obi-Wan the rest of the short distance and sank his other hand into the hair at the nape of Obi-Wan's neck, kissing him lingeringly on the mouth.

Caught off-guard, Obi-Wan froze for a moment before responding, leaning into it and slipping his hands around Jango's waist, above the wide belt of ammo and grenade pouches.

Their first kiss, hours earlier, might have been half accident and half adrenaline-fuelled boldness, but this one was pure intent. Obi-Wan wouldn't have dared to kiss Jango without permission - and still felt somewhat guilty for earlier - but Jango's hands pulling him closer let him know the interest was definitely reciprocated. There was still the nagging feeling in the back of his mind that he'd overstepped his boundaries, not by acting but by simply… _wanting._ He had always been content to accept what others offered freely: there was no imposition of himself upon their lives, if he simply accepted when he was also interested.

Jango was the first person he could admit that he had _wanted,_ even from the start, before they had really grown to know each other.

He parted his lips and dragged them over Jango's, eliciting a soft groan, and then Jango was pushing him back, step by step, until Obi-Wan's calves met the front of the sofa. The other man pulled back with a devious little smile and shoved him down onto the chair before straddling his lap and kissing him again, teeth and tongues and gentle sighs as their hands roamed lazily.

Obi-Wan's hand trailed down, past the armour plating, until he found Jango's muscular buttock. He gave it an appreciative squeeze and Jango gasped into his mouth. Jango muttered a soft curse and reached for the buckle on his belt; laughing softly, Obi-Wan helped him remove first belt and then cuirass. The _Mand'alor_ grinned bashfully. "Never really considered how awkward armour might be in, ah, situations like this."

Biting his lip on a saucy grin, Obi-Wan ran his hands up Jango's thighs and over the plates there, making him suck in a breath. "I have."

Groaning, Jango shoved at Obi-Wan's jacket, pushing it open with his palms against the plated jumpsuit underneath. "Alright, this is coming off." The jacket bunched halfway down Obi-Wan's arms, caught against his vambraces. Laughing, Obi-Wan popped the straps at his wrists and elbows and leaned forward to catch Jango's mouth in another heated kiss; the armour joined Jango's cuirass on the seat beside them.

"Did you… by any chance," Obi-Wan murmured between kisses, "consider where you wanted this to go after getting my jacket off?"

"Mm. Preferably the bed." Jango grinned against Obi-Wan's neck before biting gently just below his ear; Obi-Wan arched beneath him with a gasp. "_After_ stripping the rest off." His fingers were already working on the catches for Obi-Wan's jumpsuit.

Obi-Wan reached for the collar of Jango's suit, tugging it open. "That's a plan I can go along with."

* * *

Zohli glanced up from her datapad as the 'fresher door slid open; the light was off and Boba was peering through, his eyes enormous as he waved for her to come over.

"What?"

"Shh!"

He grabbed her hand and dragged her over to the door that led to the room their fathers were sharing, which had been opened a crack. She peeked through and then slid the door closed again as quietly as possible, blushing furiously.

Boba followed her back to their bunkroom, practically bouncing with excitement. "I heard noises and was gonna make sure if _buir_ was okay, but they're kissing and that's good, right?"

That had been a little bit more than _just_ kissing, but she wasn't going to tell him that. Scrubbing at her burning cheeks and trying not to giggle, Zoh simply nodded. "Yeah, Boba, it's good." Her _at'tha_ had liked Mr Fett for a long time, and she'd been a little worried that Mr Fett might not like him back.

"_Kandosii!"_ Boba squealed, and hugged her around the waist as she tried to shush him. "_Mhi gan t'ad buirë,_ Zozo! We have two dads!"


	3. Chapter 3: Haat

**Chapter 03: Haat**

_Reformation Year 981.03.24  
Keldabe, Mandalore_

"Yeah, you know when I went to Mustafar to get you, and you wrecked that door and stared at me for half a second like you were completely ready and willing to kill me to get out? That was seriously arousing," Jango admitted with a wry grin.

Scogar looked at him like he'd grown _lekku._ "You found that hot?!"

"Look, it's not every day someone manages to scare me that badly, but you managed it with a single look. The amber eyes really sold it." In fact, it was remembering that moment later that made Jango want to get the younger man into bed. But he'd been injured, and healing came first.

Scogar buried his face against Jango's bare chest. "You have severely questionable taste."

"You're saying that to a person who had sex with you last night?" They had actually gotten some sleep, curled back to back. Jango found that somehow more reassuring than if Scogar had wrapped around him, knowing the other man was literally guarding him, blaster and a lightsaber hilt resting on the nightstand. Waking had been a slow, lazy process of quiet conversation which had somehow led to Scogar lying half on top of him, legs tangled together. Not that he minded. The view of strong shoulders sprinkled with freckles was a pleasant one.

The other man raised his head, straight-faced but with a playful glint in his eye. "Yes, I am, because it's me you're talking about." He folded his arms across Jango's chest and rested his chin on them. "You _know_ me, you once told me you didn't like me, but here we are."

Jango ran his fingers through the long, loose copper hair. It wasn't exactly silky - indicative of a life lived on shipboard with recycled water and the limited array of hair products that demanded - but it was soft in his hands. The way Scogar's eyes closed and he leaned into the touch was more enticing. "I'm not indisposed to changing my mind. I know you better now, Scogar."

"You know that's not my name."

"Mmhmm." He nodded. "But there's someone hunting Obi-Wan Kenobi, and I won't be responsible for them finding him."

Those blue eyes flicked open and studied him thoughtfully in the dim morning light filtering through the windowshade overhead. After an introspective moment, Scogar pushed forward and pressed a gentle, almost tender kiss to Jango's lips; Jango returned it softly, unwilling to ruin the moment by making it deeper. There was something heartbreakingly sweet about it, the way it lingered, before Scogar pulled back and brushed the ends of their noses together.

The younger man sighed. "So I have to ask. Is this just a one-time occurrence, and never again? Because if it is, we have to explain things to our kids before one of them goes calling me _buir_ in front of everyone in Keldabe."

It really hadn't been hard to hear Boba's excitement from the other room - and a keen reminder to keep the noise to a minimum - and Jango was relieved that the most their kids had seen was him tugging Scogar's shirt over his head. Jango couldn't help an embarrassed grin at the memory.

It wasn't a question to answer lightly, though. This hadn't been some half-drunken, bad decision tryst; that first kiss, tentative and fleeting, had dropped a depth charge down to Jango's toes, and he'd spent the rest of the evening waiting for the chance to return the favour. There was something about getting older, all the uncertainty about another person disappearing the moment he learned the interest was mutual. Still, he hesitated. "I… Hmm."

Scogar let him take his time, even tucking his head down to break eye contact and give Jango a bit of mental space. Jango kept stroking Scogar's hair, finding the sensation soothing. The other man seemed reasonable, maybe it wouldn't ruin things to just tell him. "I don't often do this. Sex, I mean." He twitched a shrug as Scogar raised his head again, an inquisitive tilt to his eyebrows. "It's just not that important to me. But having someone I don't have to guard myself around? Someone I can trust? I don't have a lot of that in my life." Trying to explain it was always so awkward, and he hadn't yet found a way to say it that didn't put someone off; after a while, he'd just stopped trying. There were times, however, when he wished there was someone around whom he felt safe taking his armour off. Someone _comfortable._

Someone like Scogar.

The fact that the other man had previously been a _jetii_ wasn't even disturbing; if anything, it gave them a surprising amount of common ground to work from.

To his relief, Scogar's expression softened into an understanding smile. "There's more to intimacy than sex," he murmured, his fingertips idly tracing the lines of the tattoo on Jango's chest. "I have a family, friends. People I can be myself around. It's wonderful, but it's still…." His brows pinched unhappily and he sighed. "Lonely. I want… I want _this._ Just being together. It's not as if you don't know all my secrets already, anyway."

Jango knew Scogar was fond of him; his interest had been pretty obvious from the outset. But there was something about being _told_ that someone wanted Jango in their life that left him feeling warm inside and made his eyes prickle with unshed tears. That despite his failures with the _Mando'adë,_ despite his original antipathy to Scogar's origins - which had been ridiculous, it wasn't like the man had been given a choice - despite the way he'd treated the other man initially in an effort to make him go away, Jango was still cared for.

Fingers brushed his cheek, and Jango opened his eyes to see his friend gazing softly at him.

Kriff, he didn't want to lose this.

He wrapped his arms tightly around the other man, holding him close, feeling the rhythm of Scogar's heart against his chest. "This is good."

Scogar hummed contentedly with his ear against Jango's shoulder. "Do you know that's discouraged among the Jedi?" He sighed and tightened his own grip on Jango. "Wanting things, that is. They're all such deeply trained empaths, it would be far too easy to unconsciously force another person to do what a Jedi wishes they would."

Jango frowned. He hadn't missed Scogar's use of _they_ instead of including himself among the Jedi, and while that subtle change was pleasing, the implications of the rest were not. "What, like no relationships ever?"

Scogar tilted his head a little, beard rough on Jango's skin. "They're more encouraged to seek companionship from each other, because they also have better _shielding_ against such things. But _wanting_ is considered rather taboo. Attachment - the desire to _have,_ rather than simply enjoy what is offered - is something they're meant to avoid. Jedi relationships are rather passive affairs."

"There is nothing _passive_ about you," Jango teased, but inwardly he was seething. No wonder the _jetiisë_ had issues, if that was their approach to life.

The other man raised his head and regarded him searchingly for a long moment, suddenly quite serious. "How Force-sensitive are you really?"

Jango's eyebrows shot up at the unexpected question; then he grinned. "You caught me. We don't call it that, though. It's the _Manda,_ the beating heart of Mandalore. It followed the first Mandalorians, the Taung, as they ventured into the stars, and they taught it to any who would take up the _Resol'narë._ You won't find this written anywhere," he said, tapping the side of his head. "The focusing chants have been passed down through generations. We can _all_ tap into it, to improve our senses, strengthen our bodies, to make our shots count, to put us in the right place at the right time. To shield our minds. And because it follows us to the stars, we don't need a planetary home to be _Mando'adë;_ the _Manda_ will always be there. Does that answer your question?"

He was rewarded by Scogar's expression of dawning awe. _"Oh,"_ the other man breathed. "That… explains so much. And of course you don't talk about it with outsiders. Are you going to be in trouble for telling me?" He arched an eyebrow. "You could have just lied."

Jango gave Scogar a smug, satisfied smile and ran his hands down the man's flanks, watching him shiver. "In trouble with whom? I'm the _Mand'alor._ And I don't think, after yesterday, that anyone here will be calling you _aruetii."_ He dragged his hands back up the twin ridges of muscle along Scogar's spine, digging his fingertips in a bit to get Scogar to make that particularly enchanting sound he'd made the night previously. "There is, of course, the matter of the _Resol'narë."_ It was the one point he'd hesitated over in this whole thing: how would a former Jedi feel about being required to formally swear an oath? He hadn't wanted to make an issue of it before, in case the _Mando'adë_ hadn't felt Scogar was worthy, but Vizsla had inadvertently made the younger man look very good.

Scogar went limp against him, his breath catching as Jango repeated the caress. "I already… decided that it would be worth it." He looked up with darkened eyes. "Are you _trying_ to delay us going downstairs? Everyone will absolutely know."

Grinning, Jango rolled them over and propped himself on one elbow, his free hand still stroking over scars and freckles, enjoying the view of Scogar's copper hair spread across the pillow as the younger man's head arched back. "I don't care if they do." The ribbing was already going to be merciless, but neither of them had anything to be ashamed of. If people were going to tease, they might as well give them something real to gossip about.

A hesitant tapping at the 'fresher door made them pause.

_"At'tha?_ I'm going to take Boba downstairs for breakfast."

Scogar cleared his throat. "Alright, sweetheart."

"Don't let him get the muffins," Jango called. "The berries make him sick."

"Okay!"

There was a soft scuffle as Zohli left, and Jango looked down. "Where were we again?"

Laughing softly, Scogar reached up and dragged him down into a searing kiss.

* * *

_Sundari, Mandalore_

"Pre Vizsla got his arse handed to him yesterday in Keldabe."

Hunched over his caf like a sleep-deprived gargoyle, Tor Jiro blinked up at Satine's ITC director as she dropped a datapad on the table in front of him. Tor was nothing like a morning person, which had suited him just fine in his work at CorSec - most of the action had happened in the evenings - but here on Satine's personal staff, mornings began before sunrise. "Human subroutine has failed to load, please enable restart sequence," he rasped.

Tovari, already showered and fully dressed, not a single chestnut curl out of place, snickered at him. "Late night?"

"I don't know how she functions on so little sleep." Tor had presented his evening report, and then they had spent _hours_ talking about the Duchess' aspirations for Mandalore. She really was inspirational.

"She catnaps a couple times during the day. The couch in her office is for more than just hosting guests." Tovari finished fixing her own caf and tapped the datapad's frame. "You'll want to familiarise yourself with this and draw some conclusions before she sees it."

Unwilling to stare at a glaring white-backed rectangle while his eyes were still booting up, Tor poked the projector button and squinted through a single eye at the letters floating in front of him, finding a Basic translation of a Keldabe daily newsreel. The leader of the Death Watch had apparently walked into a known True Mandalorian sympathiser tapcafe - in the largely True Mandalorian sympathiser city (even if they denied it publicly) - picked a fight with a visiting offworlder mercenary, and landed himself in medical. There were a couple of short holoclips, clearly taken by an amateur who was in the crowd: the backs of heads blocked the bottom of the image, and it blurred and shook as the holographer tried to keep the fast-moving fighters centered.

"Why in nine hells would Vizsla pick a fight with some random merc? He could have his pick of the entire city if he wanted a scrap."

Tovari poked her finger through the display beside one name in particular: Jango Fett, whom the article claimed had been in attendance. "Fett brought him. Vizsla clearly tried to make a point and underestimated someone."

"They don't have a name for the guy?"

She frowned. "No, probably because it would paint a big ol' target on his back if the Death Watch knew him, but it still bothers me. No clear images and no names, although he apparently had a _verd'ika_ with him."

It took his brain a moment to remember the term referred to young _Mando'adë_ who were of age to take on some adult roles. "So Vizsla went after a merc, who is a parent, and whom Fett had brought to Keldabe. How did he leave with his life?"

"What I want to know is _why_ Fett brought a random mercenary to Keldabe. We have it on good authority that he's been starting to organise again. The good news is that Fett's first targets will be Death Watch. But once they're dealt with?" She sat back and braced one knee against the edge of the table, cradling her mug in both hands. "If the mercenary is a potential ally, if they're in charge of some larger outfit Fett is trying to make nice with, we might have a problem."

His cup was somehow empty, and Tor fumbled briefly with the pot. "Negotiation isn't an option?"

Tovari pursed her lips. "I'd like it to be, but realistically speaking, I can't see Satine accepting anything less than their full cooperation with her policies. Not unless some extraordinary extenuating circumstances arise. She's very firm about such things."

"And they'd never consent to that." He could understand why, even if he didn't personally approve: the combative drive was a deep, essential part of Mandalorian culture. Satine had turned her people's fierce nature away from conquest towards peace, but a lot of people outside the Southern domes didn't see it that way.

He scrolled down the article to the comment boards underneath. There was speculation that the mercenary was there deliberately to challenge Vizsla for Fett (unlikely: Fett preferred to fight his own battles), that the mercenary had _forced_ Fett to bring him so he could fight Vizsla (nobody took that one seriously), and that he and Fett were a couple and Fett had been seeking approval for his partner. Tor found that last one hard to believe - the known information on Fett suggested the man had little interest in such things - but that particular speculation was coming mostly from people who had witnessed the event, so they might have seen something the journalist had missed or neglected to say.

Tor pulled up a cross-reference with their database of potential Death Watch radicals and was gratified to see that the few names that matched were criticising Vizsla for challenging someone in front of their child.

"So how are we responding to this?" he asked, and Tovari shook her head.

"We can't. Not without appearing to choose sides. Any official statement will likely be along the lines of deploring such violence and hoping the Death Watch and Keldabe citizens can someday learn to resolve conflicts peacefully."

It was always tricky building statements regarding Death Watch and the Northern Mando'adë, because the New Mandalorian policy - set in place long before Satine had taken the throne - was to refuse to recognize either group as being Mandalorian at all. Following the last civil war, Death Watch had officially been banished from the planet, but they had already settled on the moon, Concordia, which suited Satine just fine. Clearing the remnants of Jaster Mereel's True Mandalorians out of Keldabe, however, would have been impossible without resorting to the kinds of violence Satine abhorred, and there would have been children involved. They hadn't had much choice but to let them stay, as long as they kept their activities offworld.

"Is there any way we can keep Vizsla off Mandalore?"

"I'm _sorry?!"_

They both jumped guiltily and looked over to see the Duchess standing in the doorway looking outraged; Matsuuri was just behind her, wide-eyed and shocked.

Tovari held up the datapad. "He tried to cause trouble in Keldabe yesterday. Offworlder sent him to medical with a concussion, broken wrist, cracked ribs and collarbone, and a nasty case of gravel rash." She rattled the list with relish, and her aunt grimaced.

"I'm glad you welcome Vizsla's misfortune, but that might be excessive."

Satine snatched the datapad from Tovari's hand. "I _wish_ we could keep him off Mandalore, but that would require a full blockade." She scowled at the article. _"Fett._ What's he doing here? No wonder Vizsla broke the articles of truce."

"Vizsla doesn't care about the articles," Matsuuri pointed out. She poured herself some caf and settled in. "He goes where he pleases, and as you said, it would require a full blockade to keep him off the planet."

"I should have ordered their spacecraft scrapped," Satine grumbled. "Fett needs to go back to his bounty hunting and mind his own business." At Matsuuri's raised brows, she rolled her eyes. "I know, I know, wishful thinking. He spent a decade not caring about his duties; why'd he come back _now?"_

"We're still working on that," Tor supplied. "He's not exactly forthcoming about his thought process."

"If there's one thing that man has never done, it's make things easy on the people who have to clean up his messes." Satine grumbled as she poured her own drink. "Is he still trying to regroup?"

Matsuuri nodded. "We're not going to be able to merely watch, eventually."

"It would be convenient if Fett's people dealt with Vizsla's," Tovari pointed out.

Tor shook his head. "Convenient, sure, but that sets a bad precedent for the New Mandalorians. Do we really want the rest of the galaxy to watch us sit by and tacitly condone Fett's people going to war?"

Satine gave him an appreciative look. "Precisely."

"A formal address, then?" Matsuuri asked. She already had her datapad out, tapping away.

Satine nodded firmly. "At this point, it's merely an issue of Vizsla and the offworlder he chose to fight... we're _certain_ that Vizsla started that incident of his own volition?"

Tovari nodded. "I know it's a Keldabe periodical, but this one at least is not in the habit of deflecting responsibility."

"Right. So pointing fingers at Fett at this time is unwise. But we can make a statement about where New Mandalore stands on the matter of inciting violence. We can't fault an offworlder for acting to defend themself-"

"And it was apparently his idea to move the incident outside in order to reduce property damage and the risk of anyone else getting hurt." Tovari held her hands up when Satine glared at her. "Yes, he could have tried diplomacy first, but at least he was considerate of bystanders!"

"If he'd tried diplomacy first," Matsuuri said dryly, "Vizsla would have put a fist through his face."

"Ethyne!" Satine gaped at her.

Matsuuri gave the Duchess a level stare in return. "All of our information on Vizsla indicates that diplomatic overtures and appeals to his better nature will fail, often fatally. I'm honestly not certain the man _has_ a 'better nature', given his philosophy of conquest. We may need to consider a compromise."

"With Fett's people?!" Satine said with disgust. "There is nothing civilised about turning a group of rogues upon a group of barbarians and hoping the bloodshed will slake their thirst for destruction."

"One issue at a time?" Tor suggested gently. "Make a statement, but let's not start predicting what colour the nexu kits will be. We should keep an eye on Vizsla, of course, but he's not a current threat. We can consider how to handle him once we know which way he's going to jump."

Matsuuri and Tovari nodded; Satine smiled at him gratefully. "I'm so glad you came to Mandalore. You would have been wasted in CorSec field work."

His cheeks heated and Tor looked down into the remains of his caf. "It wasn't bad work," he demurred, and she sniffed.

"CorSec is dreadfully corrupt and often makes deals with criminals. You're much better off here, darling."

Tor caught Tovari and her aunt exchanging an amused look behind Satine's back and sighed. _Now_ what were they up to?

* * *

_Keldabe, Mandalore_

Obi-Wan tied his hair back, barely even needing to glance in the mirror anymore. Spending the night here with Jango - _sleeping_ _with_ him rather than just sleeping - hadn't exactly been the plan, and he'd been happy to discover when he went to shower that the 'fresher included an autovalet. When he'd mentioned it to Jango, the other man - still distractingly, gorgeously nude, sprawled across the bed in the morning sunlight like the subject of a painting as he worked on his datapad - had grinned.

"Neve gets a lot of spacer types. Nobody wants to haul bags through Keldabe while they're doing business."

His freshly-cleaned shirt was still pleasantly warm and smelled of something herbal that was likely common in this part of the northern continent; Obi-Wan tugged it over his head and yelped in surprise as a sneaky pair of hands slid around his waist from behind.

Jango chuckled in his ear as he untangled himself from the shirt, warm hands skating up Obi-Wan's sides under the black fabric. "Couldn't resist."

Having admitted interest in each other had removed several barriers between them, and Obi-Wan let the other man pull him against his chest. "Well, hello there."

In the mirror, he saw Jango studying him openly. "You know, there are pictures from when you were younger in various databanks. That haircut you had was a _terrible_ idea."

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. "It's to teach padawans humility. Or something like that."

"They inflict that on every baby Jedi? That explains a lot," Jango teased. "What made you decide to grow it long?" He released Obi-Wan and took a step away to prep for his own shower.

Missing the other man's solidity against his back and chiding himself for being silly, Obi-Wan turned to watch. "When I first left the Order… it was bad. I felt like shit. I wanted to just… stop existing. Letting the haircut grow out helped - I didn't get a jarring reminder every time I looked in the mirror to shave. I did a lot of mirror-avoiding back then."

Jango gave him a slow, appreciative once-over, and even though he was mostly dressed Obi-Wan found himself blushing. "You seem to be doing better now."

"It's been five years. I have a family now." A family Jango and Boba were rapidly becoming part of, but he didn't say so. "And it helps, building new memories to supplant the old ones. I'm a different person than Padawan Kenobi was."

"I'd hope so." Jango ducked into the shower cubicle and slid the door shut with a wink that had Obi-Wan blushing again. Force, what was wrong with him?

He studied his face in the mirror, wincing as he touched the bruise Vizsla had left on his jaw; it was mostly hidden by his beard, not that he cared much about concealing the mark. He should probably just own up to the fact that he'd developed a massive crush on Jango. Whether Jango shared the feelings or just liked the companionship didn't really matter. How fortunate was he that _something_ had worked out between them? He intended to enjoy it while it lasted.

But there was an important matter that needed to be addressed. He waited until Jango was ready to go before asking, "These are your people. How do you want to handle this?"

Jango reached over and took his hand. "The teasing won't be too terrible-"

"No, I mean-" Obi-Wan gestured to himself with his free hand- "the fact that I used to be a Jedi." He squeezed Jango's fingers. "It's kind of important. I don't think it would be very good if they found that out the wrong way."

Jango blinked and frowned. "And that will become apparent to anyone who fights alongside you. Neve should be told. Let's get a sense for where things stand after yesterday before saying anything."

He didn't release Obi-Wan's hand as they went down the stairs, and the few people in the tapcafe at this time of the mid-morning raised drinks with a cheer as they entered. Obi-Wan was pretty certain most of them were greeting Jango specifically, but he was drawing a few glances himself. They joined Zoh and Boba at the bar, and Neve gave them a droll look and a datapad.

"They kept your name out of it, but once the shitty journos get their teeth into things, that won't last."

The article, at least, focused more on Pre Vizsla than on Obi-Wan, for which he was grateful. He passed the datapad to Jango and wrapped his arm around Zohli when she leaned against him.

"So…" she said hesitantly. "Are you and Mr Fett, um. Dating?"

Jango glanced over at her and smiled. "Maybe not that close just yet."

"But…" Her ears flattened in embarrassment and she rushed, "Do I call you _buir_ now?"

Neve laughed at the stunned expression on Jango's face. "Didn't consider that part, did you."

Either Obi-Wan was getting better at interpreting Jango's emotions, or Jango wasn't guarding himself as much at that moment: a brief flash of something like longing was quickly buried under firm determination. The bounty hunter reached past Boba to touch Zoh's shoulder.

"Do you _want_ to call me that?"

She thought it over for a moment and then said, "It feels a little too soon? But calling you _Mr Fett_ doesn't feel right either."

"You can do what our _ad'ë_ do for adults they consider friends," Neve supplied. "You heard Kuura and Mahvi call me _cabur,_ didn't you? It means 'guardian'."

There was something precious in the look Zohli and Jango exchanged, and Obi-Wan couldn't help but smile as she nodded. _"Cabur_ sounds right."

The tips of Jango's ears actually pinked a little and he turned back to the caf Neve placed in front of him. "I can live with that."

Obi-Wan rubbed Zoh's back reassuringly as he accepted his own caf. His daughter and Jango bonding over the past few months had made both of them happy. Learning from a professional bounty hunter would certainly be a benefit for Zoh, and it was clear Jango enjoyed sharing what he knew. Obi-Wan found himself learning a lot, as well: the culture was very different, the standards were not what he was accustomed to. His first job, dealing with Needa, had only worked because Obi-Wan himself had unusual tools at his disposal and unpredictable tactics. It wouldn't work in his favour forever.

He waited until the kids had left - meeting up with some of the friends they'd made the day before - before shifting over into the spot Zoh had vacated and saying quietly, "I'm glad you and Zoh are getting along."

Jango was also in the process of moving, taking Boba's stool, and he twitched a shy grin. "I never thought of what it would be like having more than one kid around. Cort kept telling me to let Boba come along, let him meet people… I didn't really consider how lonely he might have been." He seemed about to say something more but clenched his teeth and swallowed hard. "I… should probably tell you. Boba doesn't have a second parent because he's a clone. Of me."

Obi-Wan blinked for a moment, processing that. Cloning was a common method of propagation for some species where bearing young was often hazardous or fatal to the bearing parent; even human birth was risky and some parents chose to use other means. As long as someone claimed familial connection, a child created through cloning would have all the same rights as their parents. "I rather regret not knowing you when you were younger. You must have been an adorable child."

Some of the tension eased from Jango's shoulders. "I was an _angry_ child by the time you were born. I'm eleven years older than you. Lost my parents and sister when I was eight."

The shadows in his friend's eyes were too familiar, and Obi-Wan slipped his hand over Jango's where it rested on the bar. "That doesn't mean I can't regret not having been there for you."

Jango turned his hand over and interlaced their fingers. "I don't want Boba to go through what I did. And I don't want Zohli to ever again experience what you rescued her from."

"My primary purpose," Obi-Wan said quietly, "is to make certain she never again feels unwanted or unloved." If there was a grim note in his tone, Jango didn't comment on it, merely tightened his grip for a moment. They ate in companionable silence, still holding hands, until Neve came back around and leaned on the bar in front of them. She gave Obi-Wan a pointed look.

"So now that the kids are off, there's something that's been bothering me since last night. Maybe you'd care to explain what you meant about having fought _Kyr'tsad_ before?"

It wasn't what he'd thought she would ask. In some ways, it was better; in others, it was so much worse. Jango's grip tightened and Obi-Wan sighed.

"It was during the last Civil War," he said quietly. "The New Mandalorians petitioned the Republic for assistance when their Duchess's life was at risk. The Republic sent two Jedi to stand as her bodyguards. I was one of them."

Neve's eyes widened and she looked from him to Jango to their joined hands resting between them. Obi-Wan braced himself mentally for Jango to distance himself, but Jango's grip only tightened again reassuringly. She looked back up at him with something calculating in her eyes. "You must have been young."

"Fourteen. I was a padawan - an apprentice." He winced a little at the memory. So many arguments. How had they ever got along with one another? "Satine was very eager to let us know how she felt about our use of 'violent measures' to keep her safe."

Jango scoffed; Neve rolled her eyes. "That sounds like the _hut'uunë_ alright. Did she at least know how to shoot? Or have they eradicated even basic skills by now?"

"She can shoot. They do train their security," Obi-Wan said, trying not to sound too defensive. "They just use non-lethal measures."

"Because severing someone's arm or using neural disruptors is so much less violent." She shook her head. "Sorry, _vod._ It's not your job to defend their hypocrisy."

Obi-Wan sighed and squeezed Jango's hand briefly. The less said in this place about his childhood crush on the Duchess, the better. Still not quite healed from the Melida/Daan incident and finding yet another charismatic young person fighting for a world the Republic only cared about as a potential asset, if she had begged him to stay and continue guarding her, he might have done so. In hindsight, that would have been a terrible idea, but he would have meant it at the time. "At any rate, we were on the run for a year, _Kyr'tsad_ at our heels. We had to fight them more than once, Satine complaining the whole time."

The bar owner's eyes had narrowed as he spoke; now she said, just as quietly, "Now I know where I've seen you before. You were with her a few years ago, during their Festival. The press was just eating it up. Were you _actually_ courting her, or was it an act?"

That, he could at least answer without blushing. "An act. I was her bodyguard, they were worried about _Kyr'tsad_ trying something."

"But then you stuck around." She was giving his and Jango's hands a significant look again. Obi-Wan sighed.

"I'd been kicked out of the Order less than a year earlier. I didn't have anywhere else to go."

She glanced at Jango for confirmation, and he gave a slight nod. "What does a Jedi have to do to get kicked out?"

Feeling his face twist in a wry, humourless smile, Obi-Wan said, "Believe it or not, there are actually some things even Jedi find unforgivable. I'm lucky: they would have been within their rights to have me executed. I don't know why they merely threw me out, and it doesn't really matter anyway."

"Are you _sure_ about that?" Jango murmured.

Shrugging, Obi-Wan said, "I don't fancy my odds of getting a straight answer if I ask. But coming forward right now would likely be dangerous for me. It's not worth taking that risk."

"Ah." Neve tilted her head. "I'm assuming that's why you're not going to them to re-home your rescued slaves?"

Biting his lip, Obi-Wan frowned. "Yes, unfortunately. 'Scogar Bastra' is the name I _chose_ for myself; my real name is too widely known, and I suspect someone is hunting for that particular former Jedi. Bastra is just a mercenary. A mercenary with some unusual skills who has suddenly acquired a very large extended family," he corrected with a wry smile.

She looked at him sharply. "You're claiming them as your clan, then?"

He nodded and Neve looked at Jango. "And you approve of this?" There was no judgement in her tone, only businesslike curiosity.

"The majority of them see it as an offer of sponsorship," Jango confirmed. "None of them know how to manage on their own, only a couple were adults when they were taken; self-sufficiency isn't possible at this time."

Something shifted in Neve's bearing, and Obi-Wan realised that _this_ was why Jango had recommended speaking to her: Neve Uresgai might run a tapcafe but she understood governing intimately.

"I'm assuming you want to keep your career on top of this. Settling them in Keldabe would be best, but it would also draw a lot of attention. You need a location that's relatively private but still a convenient distance from civilization. Do you know anything about farming?"

Obi-Wan grimaced. "Not… particularly."

She snorted a laugh. "Better start doing your research, hmm? They'll need training. I'll have a word around, see if anyone is willing to take a ride out to offer lessons. Can they fight?"

"Only a few can, but they expressed willingness to learn."

"Good." An auburn eyebrow arched at him. "If they weren't, I would tell you to reconsider this idea."

Jango cleared his throat. "They understand that it's part of the culture. I think they can pick up the rest easily enough."

Making a little shooing motion with her cybernetic hand, Neve said, "Alright, go show your _cyarë_ the city, _Mand'alor._ Should have a few options once you get back tonight."

Face heating, Obi-Wan glanced over at Jango, who just gave him a toothy grin and raised their linked hands to kiss his knuckles. "It's only gonna get worse from here."

* * *

Bastra's spooky friend had come back the night before, cackling gleefully over some asshole making the mistake of challenging Scogar to a fight. Feid was a little sorry that she'd chosen to stay in the port district with Pulkka; the local news had been a fun read the next morning.

Pulkka lumbered into the kitchen where Feid was trying to coax Deesix into joining her in the city. "You want to go into Keldabe proper?"

The droid folded its arms across its chassis; if it had mobile features, it would have been scowling. "I do not. Bastra might trust this place, but I don't. Every sentient beyond the port district is armed."

Feid rolled her eyes. "Every sentient _in_ the port district is armed. Didn't you just upgrade the hatch locks? What are you afraid of?"

"Nothing!"

Pulkka snorted. "Then you won't mind coming with us."

"You didn't want to go out yesterday," it whined. "Why now?"

Feid sighed and leaned back against the kitchen bar. "Because the boss needed to stand by himself for a bit. And it looks like he held up well enough. So now we need to be seen, as part of his _family."_

The droid froze.

"Family is very important to Mandalorians," Pulkka said. Feid resisted the urge to grin: trust Pulkka to catch her meaning immediately.

"Ugh! Fine! But I'm not wearing that fake restraining bolt. It's demeaning."

"Wouldn't ask you to." Feid tossed the poncho over. "Wear that, it suits you."

Mollified, the droid arranged the garment to hide its blaster rifle and followed them down the ramp into the heat. Pulkka grumbled a bit about the summer temperature - Whiphids were a cold-weather species - while Feid locked up. Security paranoia aside, when a ship was your home, you never left it hanging open.

She felt a peculiar chill brush past and asked, "Tagging along, huh?"

The ghost's voice was quiet but amused, and seemed to echo from within her own head. _"If you don't mind?"_

"Hang around Pulkka, heatstroke sucks." She had no idea how to talk back to him mentally the way Scogar did.

The ghost laughed and the chill disappeared; a moment later Pulkka gave a full-body shake that would have fluffed her fur out if she hadn't been wearing her usual coveralls with the sleeves ripped off. But all Pulkka said was, "Thanks. Do you know where Scogar stayed last night?"

_"In Fett's bed, most likely,"_ Ulic said with a laugh.

Feid rolled her eyes. "That went without saying." Those two had been circling each other like wary rancors for a while; it was past time they did something about it. "But we should head that direction eventually, he deserves to be teased in person."

_"Good point! Head for the market district, it's not too far from there."_

They didn't get too many stares on the walk through the port district, and once they entered the city proper the only stares were of mild curiosity. Even the droid got a pass.

"You been here before, Spooky?" Feid asked. It was weird trying to talk with someone who was literally invisible.

_"Nope. The city didn't exist four thousand years ago. Most Mandalorians weren't even human back then, the Mand'alor at the time was Taung."_

"Do the Taung even exist anymore?"

_"Only genetically. A lot of old Mandalorian names have Taung roots. Like Fett's. Species characteristics are less dominant than others, apparently."_

"Interesting." Feid paused at one open-air shop to sniff at a few jars of hand-made incense. "These aren't for anything special, are they?"

The ancient Twi'lek behind the table laughed. "We don't use incense ceremonially. That one's good for clearing shipboard air, burns clean so there's nothing to clog the filters."

Feid bought some, and as she was paying, the shopkeeper said, "If you're looking for the _Oyu'baat,_ it's down that way and to the left."

She blinked at him. "Thanks, but one of our friends is staying at the Tadish Yem." She winced, knowing she'd butchered the pronunciation. The Twi'lek stared at her.

"The _T'adyc Yaim?"_ He squinted at Pulkka, too tall to hunker under the awning and out of the morning sun, then at Deesix. "You know the offworlder who arrived with Fett?"

"That seems like quite a leap in logic," Feid answered, the back of her neck prickling.

He smirked and leaned back in his chair, folding a visibly cybernetic leg over the flesh-and-blood one. "Offworlders don't get told about it. Unless they have connections."

"Maybe I read it in the news this morning."

"That's not how an _aruetii_ pronounces Mando'a just from reading." The man's smile broadened. "It's not a stretch to guess you're his crew."

Pulkka stooped to stick her head under the awning. "Will that be a problem?"

_"Nayc._ Head past the _'Baat_ and take the third right - red buildings on either corner, can't miss 'em - pay attention for the sign, it's just a picture."

"Thanks a lot."

They found Zohli first, hanging out under the trees in a public green with a group of giggling kids trying to teach her and Boba dirty words in Mando'a. Zoh waved and hopped down from her perch on a low branch to give them hugs.

"These are my, um, _ba'voduë,"_ she said carefully, "Pulkka and Feid, and our _cabur,_ Deesix."

It was kind of sweet, watching Zoh bonding with kids her own age. As much fun as she'd had on Dathomir with Feid's former clan, Zoh had a lot more in common with teenagers who packed blasters and could commiserate on the same holoserials. Introductions went around, and there was no way Feid was going to be able to remember them all. A girl who looked to be an Iktochi-Zabrak hybrid seemed to have latched on a little. When the adults decided to keep going towards the tapcafe, Zoh and Boba chose to join them and Kuura slid off her own branch.

"I'll show you. You don't want to get lost here!"

Boba ended up on Deesix's shoulders somehow. The droid grumbled but it was mostly for show; it gripped the little boy's ankles carefully to keep him stable. The curious stares they drew after that became indulgent smiles when people saw the kids. Mandalorians really did like children.

The little one nearly throwing himself from atop Deesix's two metres interrupted her train of thought. The droid barely caught Boba in time to set him down on his feet. _"Buirë!"_

_Uh oh._ That _-eh_ ending was usually a plural. Feid followed as the human boy barrelled through the market crowd and slammed into Scogar's legs. Her friend staggered a step but managed to catch Boba before he could hit the ground.

"Where'd you come from-oh." Scogar grinned at her as he picked Fett's kid up. "Hey Feid. Pulkka. You got Dee to come out?"

Behind him, Fett was making one of those faces that suggested he was trying not to laugh. The people he'd been talking to had open expressions of delight.

_"Tion'gar jii riduurë, Jango?"_

Still facing Feid, Scogar grimaced. Fett laughed and waved away what appeared to be effusive well-wishes. "_Nayc, shi burcyan. Boba guur'kaysh."_

The shorter of the two, a Devaronian man, looked at Feid and the others. "The family is larger than we thought."

Scogar put a polite expression on and introduced Feid and Pulkka as his _vodë_ and Deesix as _cabur;_ Feid resolved to look that particular term up later. The amount of attention was intimidating, despite the genuine kindness behind it, and was a relief when it shifted and they fussed over Zohli for a bit. Zoh's friend was already known and chattered away with them, talking about parts of the city the other teens had shown Zoh. Most of them sounded like they required levels of wall-hopping that on any other world would have been called invasion of property, but the Mandalorians seemed to expect it of the kids.

It was almost bearable until Fett's kid came over to Feid, called her _ba'vodu,_ and asked to sit on her shoulders; then the cooing started again. She gave her boss a smile that was closer to a grimace, silently begging him to do something.

The bastard grinned at her. "I have something to take care of. Kuura, can you show me where Midha Krirr's shop is?"

The teen looked at him like he was crazy and pointed towards the centre of the market square. "You can't miss the smithy."

"Ah, of course." Scogar gestured to Feid. "Shall we take a walk?"

They ended up taking everyone except Fett, who was still talking. Zohli let Kuura grab her hand to run ahead; Feid gripped Boba's ankles to stop him from kicking her ribs.

"Careful grabbing the horns, kiddo, they're sensitive."

"Oh." He touched one gently and sent a twitch down Feid's spine. "What are they?"

"Bone, but they're like your teeth, there's nerves inside."

He rubbed the flattened top of the one on her forehead that had lost its point to a vibroblade. "Did that hurt?"

"Yep, until a medic capped it. Exposed nerves are no fun." Feid tugged his ankle. "So you should remember to brush your teeth, because you don't want that to happen to them, right?"

"Twice. A. Day." The kid sounded like he was quoting someone. But he got the hint and braced his hands on the sides of Feid's head rather than using her horns.

The woman running the forge was like a smaller, human version of Pulkka; a nasty-looking scar wrapped part of her throat and her voice was rough enough to suggest the damage went deeper. She gave Scogar a grin that could easily be described as predatory. _"Su'cuy gar,_ Bastra. Where's that knife of yours?"

The blade Scogar pulled out looked like it had been in an explosion. Feid squinted at him as the Forgemaster inspected the weapon. "You throwing those knives I gave you into _fuel tanks_ now?"

"Uh. Yes?" He offered the biggest innocent smile he had. "In my defense, I didn't want Vizsla to run off before we were finished."

Krirr snorted. "You sound like you know him. This your crew?" Introductions went around as she cleaned the carbon-scoring from the blade. The Forgemaster studied Pulkka and Feid. "Your _vod_ gave me the run-down yesterday. If he gets accepted, the option is open to you, as well, as part of his family."

Feid shook her head, careful of the four-year old still perched on her shoulders. "He's my hunt-brother, but I dunno how I feel about adopting another culture."

"Fair. It's not a decision to make lightly. We ask a lot from our people."

Pulkka shook her mane out. "I'm with Feid on this one." Once the subject of becoming Mandalorian had been raised, Pulkka and Feid had spent several hours discussing it. On top of Pulkka's age and already having several generations of grandchildren, they both liked having the freedom to choose a new direction when they tired of the current one. It was why they'd stayed together as a team for so long despite changing circumstances.

Krirr sliced the cord wrapping the grip from the knife and stuck it blade-first into the forge alongside a slim strip of steel, clearly intending to re-forge the entire thing rather than grind the damaged part away. Feid watched with surprise - there really wasn't anything special about the knife worth preserving, but with the edge re-ground, it would lose some of its balance. Not that there was anything wrong with using old throwing knives for utility, but they were cheap for a reason: nobody _expected_ to get them back.

"I'll give you some advice, Bastra," Krirr said as she worked. "If this is the path you choose, you're going to have to dedicate some time to it. A lot of time. Life in this part of _Manda'yaim_ isn't financially costly, because we support each other. But it takes more than being the _Mand'alor'_s _cyarë_ to be seen as Mandalorian." She let her tools rest and turned to give both Scogar and Zohli a stern look. "It's not going to happen overnight. We can get your people settled quickly and vows can be said, but there's months of work ahead of you."

Krirr focused on Zoh. "Have your _buir_ or the _Mand'alor_ explained the _Resol'narë_ to you?"

"I know it!" Boba blurted, and Feid tugged his ankle again.

"Let Zohli answer."

It was a test. Kuura gave Zoh an encouraging smile as the other girl's ears flicked back, piercings clinking. "Wearing armour, speaking Mando'a, acting in defense of your home and family, raising your children in the culture, contributing to the community, and answering the _Mand'alor'_s call to fight."

Krirr nodded, eyebrows raised. "Quick study. Your _buir_ has made a good start on most of those, but you'll be expected to do the same."

Kuura grinned, showing pointed teeth. "We're teaching her the _good_ words!"

Everyone laughed as Scogar covered his face with one hand. "Looks like I'll be stepping up the language lessons."

"You could use a few, yourself," Krirr deadpanned. "Your accent is atrocious. Sound like a bloody Southerner."

Blushing, Scogar smiled tightly. "Probably because that's where I learned it."

The Forgemaster turned back to her work, bonding new steel to the old and then shaping it. The racket of hammering and cutting made conversation impossible. In the middle of things, Fett showed up, and Boba climbed off Feid's shoulders to hold his dad's hand while they watched.

Krirr did quick work. Before too long, she re-wrapped the grip and then tugged her glove off to balance the blade on her finger, proving that she'd managed to keep the weight even. "Never let it be said that I don't know my business," she said in response to Feid's surprised approval. She passed the knife back to Scogar and gave Fett a nod. _"Mand'alor."_

"Midha. What's the consensus?"

Krirr leaned her hip against the heavy metal worktable. "Bring them around to my place tonight. A few people want to get to know Bastra better." There was a serious note in her tone that suggested some secrets were going to have to come out.

Then she glanced over at Pulkka, Feid, and Deesix. "You can hang out at the _Yaim._ I'm sure there'll be a lot of people who want to talk to you, too."

Fantastic, more probing from total strangers. She couldn't wait.


	4. Chapter 4: Buirkan

**Chapter 04: Buirkan**

_Reformation Year 981.03.24  
Korriban_

When he'd seen the planet on approach, Savage had thought it looked hot. The red sands and dry stone with tufts of coarse, scraggly plants struggling in the cracks reminded him of the deserts of home, which he had only seen once when a hunt for gorbukk took them out that far from the hills.

The moment the hatch lowered, sending soft puffs of reddish powder up, he'd had to reevaluate things. It was _cold,_ a dry cold that seared his sinuses while loose dust driven by the wind tickled the back of his throat.

Maul had merely handed them the clothes he had stopped to purchase on another planet: loose, comfortable trousers and long layered robes, with boots and a long scarf to wrap around their faces. "It's a hostile world, and abandoned save for the ghosts. Don't touch anything. _Anything._ No matter how harmless it seems. Not even to get a better look."

On the horizon's edge loomed a pyramidal mountain, which Maul had pointed to. "That was once the seat of the Sith Empire. The capitol world was elsewhere, but this is where the power resided. You're not ready to face the Temple yet, and I would not subject you to the Valley either."

Savage was grateful that their new brother intended for them to continue living and sleeping in his ship; he would have endured camping in such an environment in silence, but it would not have been an enjoyable experience.

And he would have worried for Feral, who was less suited to the chill. His older brother had burrowed into the thick robes, hands shoved up the opposite sleeves to keep his fingers warm until Maul had shown them how to use the small heating packs he'd left in their pockets.

"You know this planet well," Feral had said.

A look crossed Maul's face which spoke of unpleasant memories. "Perhaps too well," was all he'd said.

They spent the days in the dark shelter of the… tombs? temples? Maul couldn't say which they were. There he taught them to meditate as he did, to perceive the spirits - the Force, Maul called it - and to make use of what it showed them. Perhaps it was because Savage had always been a warrior and a hunter - always seeking weak points for a quick, clean kill -that the spirits showed him structures and flaws, places where things needed improvement or where they might break. He trained with Maul, using wooden staves they had brought, and found that the same perceptions could apply to the patterns of beings. At first Maul went slowly, testing Savage's skills and teaching technique; then they went faster, harder, pushing the limit to just shy of hurting each other. Their new brother rarely smiled, but it was clear he enjoyed these training sessions as much as Savage did.

For his part, Feral saw the patterns of the world, the ebb and flow of energy. He quickly learned to light fires with a thought, to call lightning to his fingertips, and how to lift and manipulate objects without touching them. Maul admitted that he had little fine control in such skills - his manipulations were rougher and more forceful as a result - and studied the fine patterns Feral crafted in the air with pebbles with fascination.

"I wish we had access to my Master's library here, Older Brother," he'd said at one point. "You would benefit from those teachings."

"We still need to learn to read," Feral had replied with a smile, teasing gently. They had both started with beginner texts, but it was very difficult to resolve the words they knew with the symbols on the screen.

Maul hadn't quite smiled, but his eyes lit up, knowing and mischievous. "You wouldn't have to read. The ancient Sith created things called holocrons, and stored all their knowledge inside them. When activated, an image of that Sith will talk to you directly and answer all your questions." Then he'd sighed and his expression tightened. "I will not take you before my Master until you are strong enough to endure his training. So we need other sources of information. I did mention the ghosts, yes? This is a haunted world, and some of the conscious dead may deign to help us."

The ghosts were different from the spirits the Sisters called: the spirits were natural forces of the world. These ghosts, however, were the energies of past Sith Lords, and not to be manipulated nor trifled with. The Valley and the Temple, Maul said, were overrun with them, and they were arrogant, malicious, and would seek to own the brothers. Out here in the wider desert were the former abodes of those who preferred solitude and might welcome the opportunity to share their knowledge.

A few nights later, Feral shook them awake, eyes wide and cold sweat on his brow. "I know where we need to go."

It would have been a long enough hike in broad daylight; at night, with the desert cast in disorienting pools of shadow by the light of seven moons, it felt like an eternity. Feral led them unerringly to a small structure that seemed more like a shrine, with barely enough space for the three of them to stand inside.

The walls and even ceiling were etched deeply with sigils that seemed to glimmer and writhe in the light from their lamps. Feral sighed.

"I'm going to break a rule, brother."

Before they could stop him, he laid his palm flat over one of the sigils.

The floor shifted and dropped, smoothly enough that they barely staggered. It stopped a few spans down, in the middle of a larger room with more sigils carved in a broad band around the walls, from just above Savage's eye level down to a few handspans above the floor. It was otherwise empty, only the smallest amount of dust, and Maul turned up the brightness of his lamp before stepping off the moving floor.

"What is this place?"

Feral eased over to one of the walls and Savage followed warily. "The symbols in the wall are different from up above, Maul. Like… a book?"

"Very good."

The brothers all spun to face the source of the new voice, which had an odd echoing quality. A tall, pale woman in a long dark robe stood behind them, venerably old. What Savage had initially taken for a headdress he realised were a pair of thick tentacles attached to the back of her head; one was draped over her shoulder and the tip seemed to twitch with amusement.

She smiled at them, cold but somehow still pleasant. "Physical books have their uses, but if you want them to stay where you put them, you make them too heavy and bothersome to lift." She pointed a dark-taloned finger towards the corner to their right. "The beginning is there."

Maul took half a step forward. "Who are you?"

The woman's smile revealed sharp teeth. "I am Lord Victis. And I wish to help you free yourselves from your Master."

* * *

_Reformation Year 981.03.25  
Mandalore_

Zohli thanked _Cabur_ Neve as the bar owner set their plates in front of them. Her _At'tha_ and _Cabur_ Jango - she was still getting used to the term, but she liked it - had gone with some of Jango's friends to look at a potential place for a settlement, leaving her and Boba to make their own fun in Keldabe. They'd been invited to learn some practical skills with the other kids, and spent the morning learning how to repair helmet comms, before taking a break for lunch.

The level of _trust_ shown to both her and Boba, for all he wasn't quite five, in leaving them to spend the rest of the day on their own was… well, it definitely wasn't anything like what she had known on Zygerria. Zygerrian families of status, like Zoh's parents, kept their children close and hidden away in their own wing, looked after by slaves and a governess, and then sent to boarding schools, to be looked after by slaves and headmasters. It was an illusion of independence in a well-appointed cage.

Neve chuckled as Zoh tasted some of the red sauce in the little glass cup on the side and then dumped the entire contents over her food. "You like it spicy, huh?"

"Zygerrian cuisine is nearly as hot as this." She contemplated the pile of thin noodles which were actually part some sort of local vegetable, layered with strips of marinated grilled nerf steak. "This is tastier."

The human woman settled onto the low stool across from them, mouth twitching as she watched Boba make an absolute mess of his chin trying to slurp up the vegetable-noodles. "Do you ever miss it?"

Oof, uncomfortable question. Zohli frowned as she loaded a twirl of noodles onto her fork. "There are little things. I had a toy I loved, a favourite dress, the sandals I wore because it was too hot for boots. These little tarts the cook made." Her eyes narrowed, silver hoops chiming as she flicked her ears. "It was all made by slaves. No, I don't miss it."

Neve nodded without judgment. "Your father loves you dearly."

"He does." She caught Neve's eyes. "He offered to let me leave, you know, when I turned thirteen. He offered to help me find my own way, if I wanted." The thought made her eyes sting: _At'tha_ loved her enough to let her go. "I didn't want to leave. He's my family now."

The woman smiled gently. "It's a very Mandalorian sort of family. What do you think of Jango?" Boba's head whipped around at the sound of his dad's name, his mouth overflowing with noodles that dripped fiery red sauce on his shirt.

"I like him. He wasn't always so friendly, but he's changed a lot." Her _Cabur_ hadn't seemed very happy at all the first few times she'd seen him; between then and now he might as well have become a completely different person.

Neve sighed and reached over to hand Boba a napkin, but she left him to decide what to do with it; he tried to wipe the sauce off his shirt and ended up smearing it more. "There was a time where we didn't think we'd ever see him again. Hells, for a few years nobody even knew if he was alive. It's good to see him smiling again."

Zoh swallowed a bit more food, enjoying the afterburn of the spices. "He didn't come back until recently, did he?"

"Very recently." Neve lifted her glass of water for a drink, and Zoh found herself once again fascinated by the fine articulation of the prosthetic hand. It was beautifully and carefully designed.

"Can I ask what happened to your arm?" She wouldn't normally, but Neve _had_ asked a question that brought up bad memories only a minute ago.

The metallic fingers opened and closed as Neve flexed them. "Twelve years ago, Mandalore was at war with itself. I was a teenager. I was young and stupid and in love, and I got caught in the middle of it."

"Why was everyone fighting?" She'd read a bit about the Mandalorian Civil War, but holopedia entries weren't the same as talking to someone who had been there.

Neve hesitated, frowning like she was considering how best to explain it. "You know how, in the _Resol'narë,_ one of the tenets is to answer the Mand'alor's call, yes?"

Zoh nodded.

"You also know that the cities in the southern wastelands don't follow the _Resol'narë?"_

"They don't?"

The woman's smile didn't quite reach her eyes. "It's a long story. In short, the government recognised by the Republic - which is the government in the south - are Mandalorian only because they live on Mandalore; they come from Kalevala, one of the nearest systems in this sector. Ordinarily this wouldn't matter - one needn't be from Mandalore to be _Mando'ad_ \- but they've rejected nearly all of our traditional culture in the name of pacifism. The reason they weren't forced off Mandalore from the start was because they had the protection of the Republic, and those of us who follow the old ways were forced to hide it for generations. The south has claimed its own Mand'alor for hundreds of years."

Zoh's ears went back, offended. It reminded her a lot of certain details from her history courses. "That sounds like they tried to delegitimise the, well, native population."

"Many suspect that's the case, yes," Neve replied, nodding. "But there are no eyewitnesses to those events still alive… at least, none whose opinions we might consider unbiased. For a long time, it was the northern _Mando'adë_ and our Mand'alor, and the southern Mandalorians and their Duke or Duchess, and we largely left each other alone. The Southerners prosper in the image of Kalevala, and Kalevala grows wealthy from its share of the profits from the southern beskar mines. We in the north continue our own way of life, and they pretend we don't exist."

"They don't try to tax you?"

Neve snorted. "Why bother when we're the ones buying back our own beskar? Covertly, of course. Some of our own live on Kalevala, and benefit from the reduced price of trading." She winked and held a silvery finger up in front of her lips, and Zoh grinned as she recognised the sheen of the metal.

"So what happened? The Galactic History class I took jumped right to Galidraan and the Civil War. My _At'tha_ explained what _really_ happened there, but that can't be the whole story."

The woman scowled. "Republic historians like to lump the True Mandalorians and _Kyr'tsad_ together, but that's reductionist at best and propaganda at worst. The _Mando'adë_ have always been a culture of warriors, and while many choose to sell their strength to the highest bidder offworld, not being able to live openly on _Manda'yaim_ rankles. The man who would become Jango's _buir,_ Jaster Mereel, was Mand'alor at the time. He sought to redirect our warrior nature: if we were already largely sell-swords, then we should be comporting ourselves as the professionals we want to be. Many liked the changes he proposed - he had listened to the words of his people before making this choice."

It sounded like Mereel had been a good leader, or at least one with good intentions, and Zoh said as much. "Did the Southerners know about it?"

"While the South likes to deny that the _Mando'adë_ continue to exist, they don't ignore what happens here." Neve twitched a grin. "Some hoped the changes would enable the _Mando'adë_ and the Southerners to coexist more amicably; the Southern leadership thought it might be a ruse. Maybe the compromise would have been enough, at the time, if it had worked. But some _Mando'adë_ thought Jaster's proposal cowardly; they wanted to reignite the old culture of crusade, starting with ejecting the Southerners from _Manda'yaim_ entirely, and reclaim the galaxy for Mandalore. The one who led the challenge was Pre Vizsla's father, Tor; the year I was born, he declared the formation of the _Kyr'tsad_ \- the Death Watch."

Zoh rolled her eyes and applied the napkin to Boba's face as he gave her a sauce-smeared grin. "It's been going on for a long time, then."

"Jango was just a child," Neve agreed. "Normally when there's a schism, the Mand'alor is challenged formally, and whoever wins is confirmed as Mand'alor. I don't know why Tor chose to do things differently. Possibly it was because Jaster had a _lot_ of popular support and if Tor had won, he would have been challenged, himself."

_"Hutuunyc shabuir,"_ Boba mumbled. Neve gave him a severe stare and his face pinked. "Sorry?"

"There are times and places for that kind of language, _ad'ika._ But yes, it was very cowardly of him. Rather than challenging Jaster for the role of Mand'alor, the _Kyr'tsad_ declared Tor their own Mand'alor. And as all who refuse to answer a Mand'alor's call to battle - the most important tenet of the _Resol'narë _\- are considered _dar'Manda,_ so they called all those who still followed Jaster," she growled. "To be called _dar'Manda_ \- soulless - is the greatest insult, and naming an entire faction of _Mando'adë_ such is grounds for open warfare."

Zoh frowned. "I thought the Civil War _started_ with the massacre at Galidraan?"

"The Republic only acknowledged the war when the _Kyr'tsad_ took aim at the Southerners," Neve scoffed. "But it actually started eighteen years earlier. Jango was your age, Zoh, when Tor murdered Jaster, and the _Mando'adë_ declared Jango our new Mand'alor. The war ended with Tor's death at Jango's hands ten years ago. But the _Kyr'tsad_ remain, as you have seen."

"Are they always a problem?"

Neve shook her head. "They've been quiet for a few years, which means we're all very suspicious of them. They know better than to start a full battle on Mandalore - the Southerners might press sanctions on them, which would draw the Republic's attention - but we've fought them offworld more than once. Individual fights here in Keldabe aren't really worth noting. Unless it's Pre Vizsla biting off more than he can chew," she added wryly. "Does this still appeal to you as a lifestyle? After hearing all that, after seeing your _buir_ targeted?"

Nodding, Zoh said, "It's not so far from the life I have now. I already decided that I wanted to learn from _At'tha,_ not because he saved me but because it… it feels right. Maybe it isn't a life everyone could be comfortable with, but it suits me."

Neve studied her for a long moment. "Do you feel any desire for revenge against the people who sold you?" She carefully did not refer to them as parents, which Zoh appreciated. "Under our creed, you would be within your rights to extract justice for yourself."

Zoh considered it. Sometimes the best revenge was living well… but if she only looked after herself at a time when she might have the power to act, other people would still be suffering. She couldn't ignore that. "Someday… but not just for myself. I have a lot to learn, first."

A fierce grin crossed Neve's face. "Good."

* * *

The air smelled _green._ Obi-Wan closed his eyes and breathed it in. For all their technological advancement, Mandalorians followed practices that preserved as much of the local environment as possible, and in some places allowed it to flourish. It had taken generations after the Excision to begin to mitigate and then reverse the tremendous ecological damage inflicted by the orbital bombardment of the southern hemisphere, and with a strict embargo on incoming supplies, those who had chosen to remain in the north had fallen back on ancient traditional practices.

The land here was healthy now; part of the plot was covered in forest, while the rest stretched across a valley formed by a meteor impact millions of years earlier. A stream trailed along the southern edge from west to east, feeling like a ribbon of silver in the Force.

He wanted to curl up in the knee-high grass and lose himself for hours in the sensations, but they had a reason for being here. Opening his eyes, he found Jango and their local advisors - a Sullustan woman named Rui Dan from Keldabe and a Duros man called Rakka from the nearest _joruuya_ half an hour's travel away - watching him with idle curiosity. This was the third potential location they had seen, and while the first two had been pleasant enough, this one whispered _home._

"Here. This one."

Rakka bobbed his head and shot an arch glare at Rui. "I told you this was better for what they need. City folk have no sense for these things."

Rui rolled her eyes and flipped a credit chip to Rakka, signing, "Shush, you."

Jango had his lips pressed flat to hide a grin as he came over and put an arm around Obi-Wan's shoulders. "You don't want to take a walk around to check it out thoroughly?"

"Technically I just did." Obi-Wan leaned against him and slipped his own arm around Jango's waist. "There's even a small cave system with an entrance back in the trees. Probably left over from the meteor strike."

"I can't imagine being able to just _know_ things like that."

Obi-Wan studied Jango's profile for a moment. Now that he knew the _Mando'adë_ had their own Force traditions, he could tell that their training left them highly self-focused. "If we worked at it, I might eventually be able to project to you what I can sense."

"That… alright, it sounds terrifying, but that could provide a tactical advantage."

He laughed. "It would take a lot of work: your mind isn't receptive to outside influence at all."

"Hmm." Jango's arm tightened around him for a moment before his hand slid down to clasp Obi-Wan's. He seemed to be making a point of touching Obi-Wan now, not just in front of witnesses, but also alone. "Let's go get the legal stuff out of the way, then."

Becoming accepted as _Mando'ad_ was a great deal less portentous than he'd thought. It wasn't even a legal matter: Jango's confirmation was enough to set any doubts to rest. Even acquiring land for a settlement was just a matter of being accepted and acknowledged by the nearest neighbors - Rakka had interviewed him and asked a few questions of Jango, and that had been the end of the matter. Once Obi-Wan brought the members of his clan - and _that_ was an idea that would take a while to sink in - Rakka's people would join them in putting up buildings and preparing the first fields. Clan Bastra would be heavily dependent on them for the first year or two, until things settled and they grew accustomed to the yearly cycle.

Obi-Wan hesitated, then freed his fingers from Jango's. "Give me a minute." He hiked up the gentle curve of the valley bowl and took his datapad out to snap a few holo stills. The clan would want to see where they were going, after all.

And then he took one for himself of the three _Mando'adë_ talking in the sunlit field, dressed in their _beskar'gam,_ Rakka lounging on his speeder bike as he signed a document indicating acceptance of Clan Bastra as a neighbour.

He showed them the last one and Rakka asked for a copy. "I'll toss you a list of stuff you'll need to bring in. You can get most of it in Keldabe, send it to _Yustapir'urci Joruuya_ and we'll keep it ready for you."

The clan was basically ready to move as soon as a place was prepared. Credits weren't nearly as much of an issue as he'd feared they would be. But once they started things rolling here on Mandalore, Obi-Wan would be solidly occupied for likely several months. They had some things to take care of first. "I'm estimating about a month before we're ready to start bringing people in. The growing season is already well past…."

"There's a few things that grow late in the year, and it's good to have it set up for year-round production anyway," Rui signed, slowly because Obi-Wan was less familiar with Mando'a handspeak.

_"Ciryc'pir'gal,"_ Rakka said. "The soil here is good for the berries, even if the final product will take a few years to mature. The cave system you noticed would be a good place to store it, and bantha cheese if you decide to go that way. Multi-tiered planting will help you get the most out of what you have."

It was getting dark by the time they returned to Keldabe, Rui driving while Jango and Obi-Wan looked over the soil sample results. It was a lot to take in all at once; Obi-Wan was grateful for the HoloNet, which provided a long list of suitable crop plants based on location and the test results.

"How are you feeling about all this?" Jango asked, leaning closer over the back of Obi-Wan's seat. Obi-Wan gave him a bemused smile.

"It's taking its time sinking in. I can't believe I'm doing this. You know I was nearly shipped off to be a farmer when I was a kid?"

Rui cast a quick glance in his direction. She'd been told that he had been thrown out of the Order earlier, and now signed, "You mean before?" with her left hand, keeping her right on the controls.

"No, earlier. The Order had a rule that if an Initiate wasn't chosen by a Master by their thirteenth year - human Standard or species equivalent - that they would be sent to the Agricorps facility on Bandomeer." He shook his head; thanks to Ulic's help, the memories no longer seared his nerves with shame. "I was twelve, but they decided I was too much trouble to keep."

Rui's squeak of outrage almost drowned out Jango's growl; she snarled something in her heavy Mando'a dialect of Sullustan and then signed, "They treated it like a _punishment?"_

"That's ridiculous," Jango agreed. "There's nothing shameful about farming."

It was still difficult to set aside that ingrained bias - that people who couldn't serve as Knights were suited only for growing food for those who were - but Obi-Wan added, "There are a number of support corps for the Order that a Jedi might be better suited to. Exploricorps, for example, help maintain the hyperlane maps and expand known routes; they're an essential part of nav system software development, which is something most people never realise. But no… the Temple sent everyone who washed out of their system to be a farmer, and the odds of being allowed to leave Bandomeer after being assigned there are almost non-existent."

_"Ka'ra,"_ Jango muttered under his breath. "They treat it like a _prison._ No offense, Sco'ika, but your Jedi are failing themselves and each other."

Obi-Wan nodded reluctantly. "So accepting the fact that I'm willingly becoming a farmer is… difficult."

"This is different," Rui insisted. "You're _Mando'ad_ now."

That reminder - and the _Mando'adë'_s frank, unquestioning acceptance of him - eased a tightness in his shoulders. This _was_ different. This was his _choice_, made on behalf of others who were trusting in him to keep them safe.

He grinned. "Did you just give me an affectionate nickname, Jango Fett?" Beside him Rui snorted with amusement. Jango laughed softly.

"I did. Don't let it go to your head."

Obi-Wan reached over and ran his fingers through the close curls of Jango's hair. "So what do I call you, then?"

Even in the deepening twilight he could see Jango flush; he was pretty certain Rui was laughing at them. "It… usually shortens to Jan. Jan'ika."

"I'll remember that," he murmured, and this time Rui did grumble at them.

"If you ridiculous saps are quite finished, we're here," she signed, drawing the speeder to a halt in front of the _T'adyc Yaim._ "I'll be back in a few minutes; try to behave yourselves?"

Jango shook his head ruefully. "Man, they're getting vicious these days." But he took Obi-Wan's hand again as they entered the tapcafe, squeezing his fingers gently.

"If I didn't know better, I would think you were enjoying it," Obi-Wan teased. Jango gave him a flat, unimpressed stare and then raised their linked hands to his lips, pressing a kiss to Obi-Wan's knuckles.

"I'm enjoying _you._ The attention is the price we have to pay for it."

"The _attention,"_ Neve said with a raised eyebrow, "is because we're happy you're back and looking at the future of Mandalore instead of the past, like certain individuals we could name." She slid a pair of mugs across the bar, brimming with a pale-brown foam of _ne'tra gal._ "The kids are off with their friends. Cerrith offered to teach them some _ut'reeyah'gaan."_

"She's going to get her nose broken again," Jango laughed as he settled in.

Obi-Wan took a moment to really appreciate how much more _relaxed_ Jango was here, how much more readily his smile appeared. The man seemed to lock a large portion of himself away when he wasn't surrounded by people he could call _his,_ and it was a little sad that this trip was going to have to end soon.

The light touch of Jango's hand at the small of his back, under the hem of his jacket, reminded Obi-Wan that Jango now considered him and Zohli to be his people, too.

Rui returned with a datapad and a stylus. "This isn't so much for legality as it is record-keeping," she signed with a dramatic eyeroll. "The Southerners make a fuss about things, but they don't have any real jurisdiction."

The forms really were just a confirmation that Obi-Wan intended to take charge of that particular stretch of land for the sake of his clan; the appended pages included descriptions of the land to a painfully exacting degree and a list of legal obligations regarding pollution and conservation. Nothing untoward jumped out at him, and he initialed in the right places and then signed off on it.

_Scogar Bastra_  
_Clan Head, Clan Bastra_

Obi-Wan stared at his own signature for a moment, feeling reality sink in. It was one thing to have a ship and a crew - an expensive enough proposition even these days, where the majority of captains merely leased their ships from a person they contracted with or from the Haulers' Guild, and independent pilots were increasingly rare - but to claim leadership of a clan was several levels of responsibility higher.

Jango's hand rubbed his back, and his friend murmured, "All right?"

Obi-Wan blew out the breath he'd been holding and entered his code to receive a copy of the documents. "Yeah. It's just really hitting me now that this is happening."

Rui signed off on her line, then passed the datapad to Jango. "Witnessed by the Mand'alor. That'll keep anyone from questioning things."

Giving Jango a sideways look as the other man scrawled his name on the 'witness' line, Obi-Wan asked, "Do you ever get used to having that kind of power?"

"Nope."

The Sullustan woman accepted the datapad back with a wink. "Enjoy your evening, kids. Mand'alor."

Obi-Wan blinked at a sudden realisation. "We're both clan heads now. Is that going to be a political problem?"

"Nah." Jango shook his head. "It just binds our clans together a little closer than others; it's not like either of us can abdicate right now anyway. Not that you'd want to," he added, smiling, and Obi-Wan grinned and leaned in to touch their foreheads together.

"I wouldn't expect you to, either."

* * *

Jango waited until they were back in their room upstairs, and Scogar had gone into the next room to help his daughter with some coursework, before viewing the comm message that had come through earlier. Only one person knew to send a message rather than comm directly, and he didn't want Scogar seeing it, for obvious reasons. He sat on the edge of the bed with his back to the door to block the view before turning his holocomm on.

The small hologram of Tyranus appeared in the projection field and Jango scowled. He'd known who Dooku was - it was hard to forget the face that had turned him over to the governor of Galidraan, supposedly to face justice, only to be sold away to a bunch of pirates. But knowing the man had left the Order to become a kriffing Sith Lord, rather than merely out of disillusionment with the Jedi put a whole new light of the matter, one that was extremely unflattering.

Tyranus never seemed to have an expression other than 'stern'. _"You've been busy, Fett,"_ the message declared without preamble. _"But not in doing what you are being paid for."_

He rolled his eyes. What he was _being paid for_ were his genes and then overseeing the training of an entire army of clones. He had hired a hundred skilled soldiers, mercenaries, and bounty hunters to pass on their knowledge, seventy-five of whom were Mandalorian. Jango wasn't needed constantly at this stage, and it did a lot of good both for his reputation and the secrecy of the project that he was seen openly doing his _fucking job._

_"I trust you are not neglecting your duties and will return shortly. I wish to inspect the project and I expect to confer with you in person."_

Yeah, Tyranus would know all about neglecting one's duties, wouldn't he? Jango snorted and turned his holocomm off, a bit more forcefully than needed.

How did one go about murdering a Sith Lord, anyway? In theory he could just ask Scogar, but explaining the situation was the last thing he wanted to do. A contract was still a contract.

He heard the other man's quiet step behind him a moment before gentle hands rested on his shoulders. "Are you alright? I could _feel_ that from next door."

Partnering himself with someone that in tune with the world around them was going to make things interesting, and possibly difficult. He couldn't bring himself to care, right now; the comfort was welcome. Jango reached up to catch Scogar's right hand in his left and sighed. "We have to go," he said reluctantly. "Tomorrow."

The bed dipped as Scogar settled against his back, hands sliding forward around his shoulders to hold him, and Jango leaned into it with a sigh. "I… was hoping to stay. To help you get things sorted out here," he admitted. Although Scogar saying he would need a month to take care of some things first had already dashed that hope… he'd still wanted.

"It's alright. That's going to take a while anyway. That long term contract being demanding?" Scogar hooked his chin over Jango's shoulder, warm and steady, and Jango was suddenly grateful to have a partner who _understood,_ in a way previous partners hadn't, that he _couldn't_ talk about it, that a contract _would_ take him away for indefinite periods of time.

"Yeah."

Scogar nuzzled his cheek, and when Jango turned his head, the other man placed a sweet, if endearingly awkward, kiss on his lips. "You can always comm me when you have a moment free."

With anyone other than Roz, Jango would normally be concerned that they might trace the call. Scogar could, but he wouldn't.

He shifted around to really look at the other man, studying his features carefully, letting himself remember just who he was letting into his life. Obi-Wan Kenobi. Former Jedi, trained by a man who had been trained by Dooku - now there was some irony he could appreciate. A man who was quite possibly the most stable element in Jango's life other than Roz.

A smile crossed Scogar's face, soft and affectionate, and he murmured, "What are you thinking?"

Jango reached up and touched the other man's face, thumb smoothing over the scar on his cheekbone. There was an actual divot missing from the bone underneath, providing a hint at the kind of damage a lightsaber could do even on a relatively superficial level. "Thinking that I'm pretty damn lucky," he admitted, then grinned. "And that I like being the short one for once."

Scogar's face creased with humour and he tilted his head to press a kiss to Jango's palm. "You're not that much shorter than me."

It was pure playful impulse that goaded Jango into leaning forward and pushing Scogar back onto the bed and following him down; strong arms wrapped around Jango's ribs as he propped himself on one elbow, and Scogar laughed with delight. Jango ran his free hand over his partner's hair, smiling. "Just shorter enough."

Scogar's right hand slid up to cup the back of Jango's neck, pulling him in gently until their foreheads touched. After a lingering moment, he said, "Tomorrow, then."

"Tomorrow," Jango agreed quietly. He tipped his head in an unspoken question, and Scogar leaned up for a kiss, tongue flicking teasingly between Jango's lips. Jango stifled a groan and shoved his hand up under the man's shirt, feeling the warm, rippled flesh of Scogar's abdomen tense at his touch.

He pulled back a bit, appreciating the flush that coloured Scogar's cheeks, and murmured, "You trying to make a liar out of me?" He had been truthful: his interest in sex wasn't very strong. Usually. Except around Scogar, apparently.

Scogar's lips twitched. "Hormone response to the recent initiation of a physical relationship. It's completely biological, if that helps." When Jango groaned and buried his face against Scogar's shoulder, the other man ran his fingers soothingly through Jango's hair. "We don't _have_ to do anything, if you don't want to."

That was part of the problem, though: he _wanted_ to. He wanted to push his partner against the wall and make him gasp Jango's name; he wanted to lose himself again like he had their first night. But he hated the idea that his own body would have that kind of control over himself, and it made him question his own motives. Jango eyed Scogar carefully. "Do _you_ want to?"

Scogar's smile warmed Jango's core. "I'll happily follow your lead… _cyarë,"_ he added hesitantly.

Jango couldn't help a grin. "I love it when you speak Mando'a. Your accent is terrible." His partner cursed while Jango laughed.

"Where am I going wrong with it?"

"It's not _wrong,_ really. You're using a hard _shh_ sound at the start, which is a very Southern thing. Part your teeth a little, let it hiss a bit." He chuckled and leaned back a bit as Scogar tested the syllable, sounding like a leaky steam pipe.

They were interrupted by Zohli calling for the other room for assistance with one of her lessons. Scogar laughed softly and called back, "Be right there, sweetheart." Jango let him up, and Scogar kissed him on the cheek. "Regardless, it's your choice. I won't be disappointed."

"I know." Jango watched as Scogar went to check on their kids. The man seemed entirely content with whatever Jango offered, as if intimately aware of how rare Jango's interest was. How bizarre, to have felt at best ambivalent about the man even a year ago; there was a mutual respect and affection for each other between them now which just felt… right.

Jango stuffed the holocomm back into its pouch on his belt and slipped through the shared 'fresher, leaning against the doorframe to watch his partner coaching Zohli through what sounded like advanced economics. The two of them were sitting on the floor with Zoh's datapads on the low table, because Boba had chosen to fall asleep facedown on the sofa, his big green nexu plushie tucked under his arm.

They looked like a family.

* * *

_Reformation Year 981.03.30_  
_Kamino_

Shock bolts whipped past on all sides as they hunkered down behind one of the barriers. These training exercises never seemed to change - sure, the scenarios were different each time, but somehow they always ended up in the same position: behind a barrier with training droids advancing.

24 grumbled under his breath and poked his head out to take stock of things, pulling it back just ahead of another shock bolt. The droids were in two groups, one clustered in the centre and the rest spread out to lay down covering fire so the centre group could move forward.

He slapped 82 on the shoulder. "Gimme a popper!"

His batchmate handed the grenade over. "You're gonna get shot, _vod."_

"Maybe," 24 grinned, baring the gap where another of his baby teeth had recently fallen out. "I'm gonna go be a distraction, you focus on the droids trying to shoot me."

_"K'oyacyi."_

"Countdown. Three, two, one-" 24 hit the arming button on the popper and took off at a sprint for a barrier that was in throwing range of the advancing unit, sliding to safety just ahead of the sparks splashing at his heels. Without waiting, he hucked the popper over the barrier into the cluster and then turtled down into cover.

Nothing happened. "What the-" 24 took out another droid and spared a glance towards the training grenade; it should have zapped the cluster of droids into a few precious seconds of inactivity, but they just kept moving forward. Using a series of words the trainers thought they hadn't used within earshot, 24 cast a glare up at the observers' gallery. One of the Nulls was up there, pointing and laughing while the training Sergeant grinned and clapped him on the shoulder.

_That dirty son of a Hutt!_

Think. Misfires happen in the field. This is just another training scenario, no time to get angry. The nearest droid was paying more attention to the other cadets than to him; 24 scuttled around behind it, punched the droid in the base of its metal dome when it started to turn, and zapped it. He hit the comm and heard more swearing from his batchmates. "Shut it! New plan: everyone scatter on my mark."

_"Are you nuts?!"_

He laughed. "Yeah, but so are you." He grabbed the droid's blaster, pulled the power pack, and set it to overload. The trainers would be mad about the destruction of property, but they could cope. "Three… two…" The power pack was getting hot in his hand already. "One! Go!"

The power pack exploded satisfyingly among the droids; shrapnel and ignited liquid tibanna flew everywhere. The squad made short work of the rest of the droids, separated from each other and vulnerable, after that - the ones in the middle of the room were nothing but scrap.

44 slapped his hand on the button on their goal and the lights went back to daytime normal. 24 picked up the training popper and twisted it open; the contact points for the charge pack had been snipped out, so they wouldn't notice the change in weight.

He was going to get penalised for the improvised weapon, but he didn't care. The satisfaction of winning the scenario despite the sabotage was going to be with him for a while.

They lined up, helmets tucked under their arms, and Sergeant Vau stomped over, glaring. "Cadet! What the fuck was that?!"

As straightfaced as he could manage, 24 said, "Classic IED: a blaster power pack-"

"I know what it was! You acted beyond the parameters of the scenario, Cadet! Give me that!" He held his hand out for the tampered popper, glaring.

If 24 gave it to him, the trainer could dispose of the evidence and claim 24 had gone out of his way to break the rules; there would be no evidence that Kom'rk had deliberately interfered with the scenario. Setting his jaw, 24 drew himself up straighter. "No, sir. As the user of a broken device, it's my duty to report the damage to the quartermaster-"

The back of an armoured hand caught him in the cheek and made him stagger. "You will obey your commanding officer, 24, and right now, that's me."

"Actually, that would be _me."_

Everyone froze at the sound of a new voice and heavy, armoured footsteps. Jango Fett himself stopped just inside the trainer's personal space, somehow no less intimidating for his son propped on the Mandalorian's hip with a ridiculous green plush toy in the boy's arms. The clones' progenitor had been away for an extended period of time, which always meant some of the trainers felt free to be more harsh on their charges; 24 had never been so glad to see him.

"Jango."

"Walon. What happened."

The Sergeant scowled. "This cadet utilised an unauthorized explosive device to complete the scenario. By regulations, they failed-"

"And why did the cadet feel the need to do that, Walon?"

_He knew._ 24 kept his expression flat, ignoring the sting across his face. Fett wasn't _nice,_ but he was fair, and he appreciated inventive tactics. 24 might still get 'fresher duty, but their group wouldn't be penalised.

"Clearly 24 was unable to remember standard tactical maneuvers-"

"Which in this case involved remembering that poppers exist." Fett held his hand out to 24 wordlessly; 24 handed the popper over without twitching. Fett opened the casing, saw the tampering, and held it up for the trainer to see. "Wire clippers aren't part of standard training kit, are they, Walon?"

The trainer flushed angrily - it had been his _job_ to check the cadets' kit before they started the training scenario, and he would know exactly what they were carrying… and whether a piece of equipment was damaged.

Fett didn't wait for a response. "When scenario training _involves_ tampered equipment, it will be listed on the roster. That wasn't the lesson for today." He finally looked at 24, who blushed under the scrutiny. "For a nine year old, that was some sharp thinking. Good job… CC-2224."

This time 24 did break expression as his jaw dropped. Fett had just unilaterally promoted him from CT class. The Sergeant sputtered and Fett took a step closer. "And tell Kom'rk I'd like a word with him. My office, thirty minutes." He turned and strode away; little Boba twisted to look over his shoulder at them and waved as they left.

The trainer glared at them - at 24 in particular, even though he only had himself to blame - and barked, _"Dismissed!"_

"Kriffin' hells, _vod,"_ 44 hissed as they stripped their sweaty gear off. "That was close!"

"You're telling me!" 24 was going to have to be extra proper around Sergeant Vau for a while - the man kept a grudge like nothing else.

67 was silent, waiting until they ducked into the communal showers to say, "I can't believe Fett promoted you. You'd better watch your back around the trainers, they're gonna start pushing you."

24 grinned, then winced as the expression stretched bruised skin. "Let 'em try."

* * *

.

* * *

Mando'a

buirkan - responsibility  
hutuunyc shabuir - cowardly asshole  
joruuya - village  
yustapir'urci - place where two rivers meet  
ciryc'pir'gal - frost-wine  
ka'ra - stars  
ut'reeyah'gaan - "empty hand" - a general term for Mandalorian unarmed combat  
k'oyacyi - good luck


	5. Chapter 5: Break

**Chapter 05: Break**

_Reformation Year 981.03.30  
Concordia_

Pre Vizsla scowled at his reflection in the mirror as he changed the dressings on his right cheek and jaw. His nose was still swollen and difficult to breathe through despite being re-set, and his left wrist remained tightly bound. The _Kyr'tsad_ had been suffering from the reduced access to bacta, and he refused to dip into their stockpile for such minor injuries; it would take longer to heal, and likely scar, but it wasn't like they were on a wartime footing.

_Yet,_ anyway. He smiled at the thought.

Someone cleared their throat behind him and he glanced up at the armoured, red-haired girl standing in the doorway. She held a datapad out towards him.

"That report you asked for."

Pre grunted and smeared antibacterial salve over the mess the Keldabe street had made of his face. "Let's hear it, then. Who the fuck is Scogar Bastra?"

Kryze hesitated a moment before turning the datapad on. "Officially, he's a nobody. Small-time mercenary. Takes bounties on the side - his first one was that asshole Needa."

"Wondered who put him away."

"Needa's dead, by the way. Killed in an escape attempt a couple weeks later. Anyway. Bastra appeared out of nowhere five years ago, almost literally. There's a student ID registered in his name for a university on Naboo. Corellian birth registration. And that's everything for his past."

"So it's fake."

"Most likely."

Pre rolled that around in his head for a moment. Odds were good that Fett knew about all that already, so holding Bastra's non-existence over them would be futile. "What's he been doing since then?"

Kryze frowned and skimmed the page. "Worked as a navigator on a small-time hauler for a bit, before setting up on his own. Recognised as Mando'ad by Fett a few days ago - no big surprise there - but it looks like he's starting a clan and planning to settle people on Mandalore."

"People, huh? I want more info on that."

"They're digging. Oh. The big scuttlebutt around Keldabe is that he and Fett are seeing each other. No idea how long that's been a thing."

Pre wrinkled his nose at his reflection, annoyed. A person who claimed the title of _Mand'alor_ \- however much they deserved it or not - wouldn't choose just anyone as a partner. Regardless of Pre's feelings about Fett, the man wouldn't just fall for a con artist, so Fett probably knew more than what public records showed. Pre had assumed the younger man was just an acquaintance, possibly a potential ally of Fett's, but the intel suggested something else was going on. Something bigger. "Is that all?"

"Uh. He had a teenager with him. People think you were an idiot for picking a fight in front of his _ad."_

Pre swore. The kid hadn't been part of the news that had brought him to the _T'adyc Yaim_ that night; someone had really dropped the ball. If Pre had killed or permanently maimed the man, his kid would have had the right to claim vengeance. And while Pre was reasonably certain he could take a teenager down, it would look bad to _everyone._ "Any news on where he trained?"

"Nothing." She caught his sharp glance in the mirror and grimaced. "No, everyone agrees he's had formal training. But we can't find a source. There's a long list of organizations that train martial combat from childhood, and probably even more we don't know about."

"We can narrow it down, anyway. That accent is pure Core. Unless he's faking it to make everyone underestimate him." Dammit, why hadn't he considered that before? Pre shook the thought away. "Known associates?"

"Beyond Fett? Pirates, mostly. A few bounty hunters. We're not going to get info from any of them; they protect their friends, and Bastra does seem to be a good friend to have from all accounts."

Pre cursed under his breath. "Enemies?"

"They had some weird rivalry with the Uvak Mercs, before that group split up. Vedin is trying to get through to Shrike and Toth right now."

"Shrike's an ass." Shrike would throw his weight around, try to give all the orders, get trashed whilst doing it, and eventually get violent when told to shut up. "Toth… Toth's also an ass, but he also carries a grudge like nobody else, and he won't drink on the job. Focus on him."

"Got it." Kryze frowned at the datapad. "Bastra also used to have an _Aka'jor_ shuttle which may or may not have been one of ours."

Pre stopped in the middle of reapplying the protective seal over his cheek. "Where'd he get _that_ from?"

"No idea, but it's been transferred to a kid who used to be on his crew. Works out of Corellia these days." She raised an eyebrow at him. "Want us to send someone to make an example of them?"

His first impulse was to say yes, but… there were Bastra's shady connections to consider, and he really didn't like not having all the information on the guy. "No. Send someone to hire them for something; passenger plus cargo would be best, so we can get a confirm on the ship. Get 'em talking over drinks. Try not to rouse their suspicions."

Kryze shrugged. "No offense, but a lot of our folks aren't good at subtlety. I'll do it myself."

That was a fair assessment, and he tried not to show his pleasure at how well Kryze's tactics had been improving. She might even redeem that family name, make it worthy of the Mandalorian heritage her family pretended to. Pre settled for scowling again at the initial pain of the bandage over raw skin. "Do it."

* * *

_Reformation Year 981.04.01  
Corellia_

Sometimes Phel forgot xe was dating a Jedi, but other times it was right there in xir face. Xe watched Valin fuss in front of the mirror, adjusting the frankly ridiculous amount of layered robes that looked so uncharacteristic on him.

"Kark! Why won't it lie flat?!"

Smiling sympathetically, xe asked, "Need a hand?"

Val slumped, sighing heavily. "I mean, you don't know how they're supposed to go, but you can't muck it up worse than I have."

Phel tugged four layers off until Val was down to the dark grey trousers and light grey sleeveless undershirt. "Let's start over, then."

The black wrap with close-fitting long sleeves went on first, and Phel made a point of actually using the inside laces Val had ignored, keeping things in place. A loose-sleeved dark green tunic was next, followed by a sleeveless wrap in dark grey and then a silvery grey tabard. It was kind of fun, dressing xir boyfriend like a display mannequin, and without Val twisting and fussing, folding the collars was a much smoother process.

Phel made Val wait while xe untangled the long green waist-wrap and compacted it into an easily managed roll of silken fabric. Val gave xir a wry grin.

"How'd you get so good at this?"

"Obsessive attention to details." Every layer and colour meant something - indications of Val's rank as a Senior Padawan - but to Phel what was important was making sure the layers displayed correctly in crisp overlaps down Val's broad chest.

Xe clipped the leatherette belt over the wrap, ran xir hands down from his shoulders to waist to make sure nothing was uncomfortably creased, and then hooked xir fingers into Val's belt and dragged him in for a kiss. Val made a happy little sound and leaned in, stroking appreciative hands over the muscles of Phel's bare back. It was thrilling to have someone xe trusted so much, that being even half-naked in front of them didn't fill Phel with the intense desire to run, that being touched didn't make xir want to strip xir own skin off and burn it.

There was also something electrifying about feeling the press of Val's clothed chest against xir bare one, and Phel pulled back before they could get carried away. "We only just got you looking presentable, let's not undo that hard work."

"Hmm. Yeah. Hard." Valin grinned salaciously and Phel rolled xir eyes.

"Only you would get this distracted right before your Trial thing."

Val grimaced and ran a hand back through his dark hair, messing it up. "Well, that killed the mood."

Phel gave up on keeping xir boyfriend looking neat and ruffled Val's hair further, and turned to pick a shirt out of the closet. Their body types were too different for them to share clothes, but Val had insisted Phel shouldn't live out of a satchel; xe now had about half xir belongings stored around xir boyfriend's apartment. "What's the worst that could happen? You don't pass, and then…?"

"I get assigned a bunch of remedial work and have sessions with a Mind Healer to make sure that this is really the right path for me, with a reassessment in another year if they do think I'm on the right Path, or they offer me a list of other options if the Healers think I'm not suited to being a Jedi." Valin was rolling his eyes; Phel could _hear_ it in his voice. "Not that I think they would. I've never felt like I was missing out on life."

"And you're sure you want me to come along? You won't get in trouble?" Xe couldn't help the tension in xir shoulders: their relationship wasn't exactly a secret, but xe also knew the few details Bastra had shared about his own time as a Jedi.

Warm, gentle hands clasped Phel's shoulders and urged xir to turn around; xe allowed it, glancing hesitantly into soft green eyes.

Valin rested their foreheads together gently; he'd despaired of ever having a final growth spurt, and they were still very close in height. "Your friend went through the Coruscant Temple. They're a lot more strict about almost everything - on Coruscant, I wouldn't even be allowed to live on my own as a Jedi. Things are different on Corellia, and we're allowed to have partners. Besides," he added with a grin as he pulled away, "my parents like you."

"And that's a relief!" Phel pulled xir chosen shirt over xir head and tucked it in, then tossed xir nicer jacket over it. "Leave the blasters at home, huh?"

"You can bring 'em. Kate's invited, too."

There was a cheerful whistle from the open door as Kate reminded them that she'd be coming along, regardless. They both laughed, and Phel bit xir lower lip, ducking xir head to hide the sudden rush of… fondness? affection? for both of them. There was something here that xe had never expected to find. Bastra had given xir a family, but this… this might easily become home.

It was difficult to shove down the old inner voice warning xir not to get too attached. That good things always ended.

Val nudged xir with his elbow. "Come on. I'm about five minutes away from getting harassed by messages from my parents."

The interior Corellian Temple - or at least this part of it - was familiar enough that Phel no longer had to fight the urge to stare around. The entrance hall was the size of a hangar; like most Corellian architecture it was considerably wider than it was tall, but the _Sunflare_ could still have landed quite comfortably inside with room to spare. Statues of famous Corellian Jedi lined the central footpath leading deeper into the temple, and Valin's parents met them there, along with a few of his fellow Padawans. Nejaa and Scerra offered Phel hugs and greeting pats to Kate, and nobody said a word about Phel looking like the common spacer xe was.

Valin glanced at Phel, as if apologising for walking with his friends; Phel grinned and nodded to let him know there wouldn't be any resentment. Xe wasn't a Jedi, and Val definitely needed the encouragement from people who, well, understood him. Xe trailed at the back of the group as they passed through the broad corridors, the Jedi chatting amiably with expansive gestures.

"How do you feel about all this?"

Scerra had slipped back to walk alongside Phel, and xe tilted xir head to the side, taking in the sunlight shafting through amber frosted-glass panels in the walls over the curving stairs. "I don't know if I _can_ feel anything about it. It's just… so far beyond me, you know?"

Scerra was the only other person in their group - in their immediate vicinity - who was also visibly not a Jedi. She touched Phel's shoulder lightly. "Just because it's not part of your experience doesn't mean you can't have feelings about it. You and Valin have been together for nearly a year, and maybe you can forgive me for hoping it lasts a bit longer than that?"

Laughing bashfully, Phel stuffed xir hands in xir pockets. "Maybe. I'm still not used to things lasting. I… I hope this goes well for him. I _know_ he's ready for this, even if he doesn't think so. But… all I really know about this sort of thing is what Scogar - Obi-Wan? I'm not used to calling him that - told me about Coruscant. So I'm still worried."

"You know, the entire Jedi Order used to be more like the Corellian Jedi. They were allowed to love, to marry, to have families, to live among the people. It was a long time ago, but the Order wasn't nearly so formal as it has become in the last thousand years or so." Scerra grinned at her husband as he glanced back at them. "Trials weren't even a thing, it was entirely up to the students' Master to declare them ready."

"You've studied this?" Phel shook xir head when she nodded. "Did the texts survive? Or did they leave behind those holocron things?"

"Holocrons, for the most part. The Corellian archives are open to the public, although the archivists insist on supervising visitors. It's more to prevent accidental damage from mishandling; holocrons require a Force user to activate them, and some of the texts are extremely delicate."

"I thought all the holocrons were in the Coruscant temple?"

Scerra chuckled. "I doubt they know where every holocron is. The history of the Jedi goes back over thirty-thousand years; that's a long time for things to get lost. The holocrons stored here on Corellia were largely crafted by Corellian Jedi, or specifically given to the Green Order." Her mouth twisted wryly. "The Coruscant Temple has never asked for them, or even requested copies. I'm afraid the Corellian Order is largely considered heretical."

"They do seem… different. Really different. But Nejaa still got mad at Scogar."

"Because he's scared for Obi-Wan's safety," Scerra said quietly as they approached a lift. "Your friend takes a lot of risks."

Phel frowned. "Scogar's an adult, though. It's not Nejaa's job to get on his case over things."

Nejaa turned with a raised eyebrow. "Friends are supposed to let each other know when they're worried. That man's antics scare even me, and I have a _reputation."_

The lift went down several floors - Corellia might not have been as overbuilt as Coruscant, but Coronet City had three different levels, and the entrance to the Corellian Temple had been rebuilt twice - opening into an atrium lit with colored-glass light panels that shifted in hue. The overall effect was like sunlight shining through shallow water, and it had an immediate calming effect on Phel's nerves. Three members of the Green Council were there to meet them, and Valin took the lead, bowing low to them while the rest of the group formed a semicircle to watch.

"Masters. I am here to offer myself for the Trials of Knighthood."

The dark-skinned human woman in the middle seemed to smile without actually smiling. "Who presents you for your Trials, Padawan Halcyon?"

"I do, Councilor Enkari." Nejaa stepped forward and bowed, although not as low as Valin had.

"And do you believe your Padawan to be prepared to take their first steps on their own, without your ever-present guidance and support?"

The entire thing had the air of a very casual ceremony, and Phel wondered if these events were recorded, if the language they used created some sort of legal binding. Xe really had been hanging around Scogar for too long.

Nejaa seemed to break formality with a smile that radiated both pride and grief. He was letting go of not only his apprentice but his _son,_ and Phel knew from long hours talking with Scogar about Zohli that parents feared the day they had to let go.

"I would be lying if I said I was ready to see him go. But I do believe he is ready."

Phel couldn't see Val's expression from xir angle, but Val looked at his dad, who smiled encouragingly and rested a hand on his shoulder. "I know you are."

The Councilor nodded and stepped aside, gesturing for Valin to precede her and the other two Masters into the next room. Valin had explained this part to Phel the day before - nobody else was permitted in the testing chamber, and the Trial might take only hours or up to three days. But Val hesitated, then turned and hugged Phel tightly.

"Don't worry," he whispered. "You can stay with my folks if you need to."

Phel bit xir lip and murmured back, "I was going to take a job… but if you want me to be here when you finish-"

"I really do. Please?"

Swallowing past the lump in xir throat, Phel nodded and tightened xir hug for a moment. "Okay. Uh. May the Force be with you?"

Val kissed xir quickly on the cheek. "And also with you."

Phel ducked xir head to hide the blush heating xir face as Val turned back to the three Council members. "Now I'm ready." There was a murmur of soft laughter, and when Phel glanced up cautiously, Councilor Enkari was making no attempt to hide an amused smile. She gave xir just the slightest nod before turning away to follow Valin.

Nejaa clearly noticed Phel's discomfort as Valin's other friends dispersed back to do whatever Jedi did; he eased over and wrapped his arm around xir shoulders. "C'mon, let's get lunch. There's a great diner not too far from here."

It was a really good diner, and the owner definitely knew both Nejaa and Scerra. The booths were comfortable, there were individual charging ports for customers' droids, and the decorations were kind of rustic even if the building itself wasn't. It was probably supposed to remind customers of visiting older relatives. Phel cradled xir caf between xir hands and relaxed against the cracked leatherette padding, listening to Scerra elaborate on Nejaa's Trial while Nejaa refuted everything.

"-Shaking like a leaf-"

"I was not."

"You were. Your father feared you were going to faint-"

"Not true."

"And you tripped on the threshold to the Trial chamber," she finished with satisfaction, eyes glinting as if daring Nejaa to deny it.

His mouth opened; then he closed it with a sigh and nodded ruefully. "Okay, I did do that."

Kate trilled an electronic giggle. Phel frowned. "Were you dating back then?"

Scerra smiled. "No, but we've known each other since we were children. Our mothers were old friends."

Biting xir lip again - how did anyone navigate these family conversations?! - Phel asked hesitantly, "Are they… still alive?"

Nejaa gave Scerra a broad grin and she glared back, shaking her head. "We are absolutely not inflicting our parents on Phel without Valin around to protect xir. They're all still alive and very well," she said, looking back at Phel. "But maybe a little overwhelming."

"They do want to meet you," Nejaa offered, and Phel's eyes went wide.

"Oh great. They know I exist."

"They've known for a while. We're rather close-knit."

#You should meet them!# Kate suggested.

Phel whistled a flat, #Absolutely not!# that had the others laughing.

Their food arrived and Phel stared at the thing Val's parents had suggested xe order: the menu said it was soup, but the thing in front of xir was a dish of clear broth that still smelled amazing, dominated by a single immense lump of steamed dough. "I don't want to be rude. What do I do with this?"

"Cut into it with your spoon, let the broth soak in." Scerra demonstrated with her own bowl of enormous dumpling soup. Nejaa watched with amusement as he added sauce to the large sandwich on his plate.

The dumpling separated neatly, revealing a filling of spiced ground meat. Phel nearly burnt xir mouth on the first bite, but it was good; simple, but _good._

"You've never known anyone who took the Trials. The waiting really is the worst part," Nejaa offered.

"I… have? Kind of? Scogar- Obi-Wan-" xe fumbled, but both of them nodded understanding. "Scogar went through a sort of Trial on Jedha. He was gone for a day and a half."

Nejaa's eyebrows shot up. "He was tested by the Guardians?" He sounded… not awed, exactly. Maybe astonished.

"Yeah." Phel's mouth twisted wryly. "Zoh thinks maybe I came from Jedha originally, but we don't have any way of checking that. The Guardians were really nice," xe added, remembering Chirrut and Baze.

"Why did you go there?" Scerra asked.

That… was a question Phel couldn't give a full answer to. Scogar had admitted he had no idea how Nejaa would feel about Ulic's existence. "Scogar was seeking, I dunno, guidance or wisdom. Something like that. They gave him a set of crystals after testing him, so I guess he passed?"

Nejaa chewed thoughtfully. "Risky. The Guardians offer what petitioners _need,_ but that's usually according to _their_ beliefs and doctrine. The potential for miscommunication is high."

Phel shrugged. "It was kinda beyond me, really, but Scogar and the Guardians seemed to be on the same page."

"Hmm." Nejaa frowned. "He already has a lightsaber, why would they give him kyber crystals?"

_Shit._ Perhaps too much information there; Scogar had warned them that the Jedi wouldn't think much of him giving Ohnaka his old crystal. "I dunno, it was really philosophical. Something about the old one no longer fitting who he is?" It was difficult to remember; it had been almost three years ago. Another memory pinged, and xe added, "And something about how just adding a second crystal wouldn't work."

The Jedi Master frowned and stroked his beard as he considered that; Phel wondered if it was a gesture all the bearded Jedi adopted, or if people with beards just did that out of habit. The idea of having male-pattern facial hair sent a twinge of _nope_ down xir spine.

"So he's got a multi-crystal blade, now?" He grimaced. "That's pushing the limits of what even the Corellian Order would allow a former member to keep, but it's probably for the best, given what he gets up to. He didn't sell the old one, did he?"

"Nope," said Phel, relieved xe could give a straight, honest answer to that one. "Despite offers. He's not _that_ hard-up for credits." Xe considered telling them what Scogar had been up to lately, but some of it definitely counted as illegal. Nejaa was a rogue, but he might feel obligated to do or say something that might interfere with Scogar's life.

On that subject, xe remembered the juicier parts of their last gossip comm with Feid, Pulkka, and Deesix. "He has a partner now," xe volunteered, trying to shift the subject.

Scerra - quietly concerned during the part of the conversation that was somewhat beyond her - perked up. "Oh, that's nice to hear. What do you think of them?"

"Well…"

Kate interrupted, #His criminal record is impressive!# and Phel covered xir face with xir hand.

"Yeah, it is that." Xe translated for Scerra and Nejaa, who blinked at xir in consternation. "He's a bounty hunter," Phel clarified, and then said, "His name's Jango Fett."

The timing had been perfect. Nejaa backspit into his cup, and a lump of dumpling wobbled and dropped off Scerra's spoon and splashed back into the broth.

"I'm sorry, I think I misheard that," Nejaa said, patting his chin with his napkin.

Phel grinned and shook xir head. "He was just on Mandalore, being recognized as one of 'em. Has his own clan now and everything."

Scerra set her spoon back in the dish. "He doesn't do things by halves, does he?"

"That man wouldn't know moderation if it walked up and headbutted him senseless," Nejaa grumbled. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but… I trust him to know what he's doing."

"It's not like there's anything you can do about it, hon," Scerra said, grinning.

"No, but I can make sure he's not left hanging if things fall apart badly." Nejaa cocked an eyebrow at Phel. "Does Fett _know_ Obi-Wan is…? And they still got together," he said with wonder as Phel nodded. "Okay, then. That defies expectations, but if they can make it work, more power to 'em."

"Scogar's changed a lot. Probably more than he lets on," Phel pointed out. "You still see him as a Jedi, but he's not even anything like you Corellian scoundrels. You really don't want to know some of the things he gets up to, these days." Xe had carefully not told even Valin about their job on Coruscant with Mama Nirru. But that hadn't _technically_ been them.

As if he were reading Phel's mind - he wouldn't, Phel _knew_ Nejaa wouldn't invade someone's privacy like that - Nejaa murmured, "So long as he watches himself around that Red Sun crowd. We still don't know a lot about them, other than a few names we're certain are aliases. But they could be dangerous."

It took every bit of Phel's control to simply nod and say, "I'll pass the message on."

* * *

_Reformation Year 981.04.01  
Rhen Var_

"That's what he said?" Obi-Wan asked. In the holo Phel grimaced and nodded.

_"Word for word. How does Valin's dad know you're involved with the Red Sun stuff?"_

There was really only one explanation. "The Jedi have a sub-order of spies called Shadows. My friend, the one we helped with the Krayn stuff, is probably one of them, given what they had her doing. It's likely she passed on information about Red Sun to the Master of Shadows, which means their entire network knows to look out for Red Sun and _not_ instantly presume we mean ill."

_"So... Nejaa is a Shadow?"_

"I have no confirmation," Obi-Wan admitted, "but considering how he does his job, it's extremely likely. Of course, that's dangerous information to know, and probably best if you don't say anything to anyone about it."

_"No kidding!"_ Phel gave him an incredulous stare. _"So how'd Mandalore go?"_

It had taken a few more days, largely spent purchasing prefab supplies and doing a lot of research, before Obi-Wan felt they were ready to leave Mandalore. Rakka had sent an immense file on farm-starting and multiple-tier planting, and another huge file on plant identification and conservation. They would need to harvest _some_ of the trees on the tract he now claimed, but he wanted to make the most of the material without unduly upsetting the local ecosystem.

Obi-Wan forwarded copies of the holos he'd taken of the site, and Phel tilted xir head at the display that was just out of view. _"Looks… uh, woods-y?"_

"It's not what I thought I would be doing with my life, but it's kind of exciting. And nerve-wracking. Because I legitimately have no idea what I'm doing."

Phel shook xir head at him. _"No, you do. You're just saying that because you feel overwhelmed and in over your head."_

Obi-Wan squinted at xir. "Shhh. Don't ruin my happy delusion that I'm stumbling through this blindfolded."

_"Oh, you're definitely doing that too."_

The teasing made him grin; Phel was doing much better with some stability in xir life. Growing up without anything like what most sentients would consider _normalcy,_ Phel had opted against the more transient lifestyle Obi-Wan and the others preferred. It was a very particular way of life, anyway: not everyone could be content living on the spacelanes.

His comm chirped with a signal from Dee that they were almost ready to make planetfall. Obi-Wan sighed. "I've got to go, here. Let me know how Valin's Trials went?"

_"Sure thing. And I wanna hear all about what happens with Ulic."_ Phel laughed. _"It's too bad he doesn't show in holos, I'd ask you to record it."_

They signed off and Obi-Wan headed up to the cockpit. Pulkka, Feid, and Zoh were busy prepping their cold-weather gear - not that Pulkka needed much, but she had a coverall that was waterproofed, while everyone else had coats, hats, gloves, and jumpsuits that fitted over their shipboard clothes.

Ulic was lounging intangibly over the comms station chair, his robes falling through the furniture as he pretended to a casual attitude he clearly wasn't feeling. Deesix stared out the front viewport at the planet ahead of them with an attitude of dismay. "Do we have to?"

Obi-Wan pursed his lips against the grin that threatened to crack his face as he took over the pilot's controls. "Unfortunately, yes."

"It's a complete ice ball."

"That's Rhen Var for you," Ulic muttered.

"You're sure you want to do this?" Obi-Wan asked, hands tensing on the controls as they dropped into the turbulent upper atmosphere. "You don't seem very eager."

"I'm not. But I'm sick of being seen as a pawnable piece of jewelry." His sigh was nearly drowned out by the shriek of wind over the transparisteel. "Four thousand years is long enough to learn that this sucks." He hesitated, then said off-handedly, "You might want to give some thought about that, you know. Life after death, I mean. Messing with the Dark side can have… consequences."

Obi-Wan huffed and pulled to the left as Deesix submitted a course correction. "If I have to wait until I'm dead to finish things, I wasted my time living. There's the beacon. Let's hope the platform isn't buried in snow."

The weather at ground level was far more sedate, tiny flakes drifting down quietly. The landing platform at the small outpost was clear; the sensors indicated that the surface was actually heated just enough to prevent accumulation, which might have been an expensive waste anywhere else. But this was the only truly safe place to land a ship on a world covered in glaciers under the snowpack, and keeping it cleared was worth the energy cost. Mile-deep crevasses lurked just a few fragile metres below the surface, wide enough to swallow a cruiser. The platform and blocky duracrete outpost were utterly dwarfed by the looming cliff-wall of blue glacier ice; there was a pathway through the glacier somewhere, and on the other side lay the ruins of the temple.

Obi-Wan tucked Ulic's crystal into the pocket of his thermal coat, which fell to his knees, had a small integrated heating unit for emergencies, and a deep hood lined with fur to keep the wind out of his face. In any other environment it would have looked ridiculous, but in Rhen Var's chill, it was a necessity.

It took a while for them to get kitted up - which was probably a good thing. Whoever was stationed at the outpost, likely an archaeologist or other researcher, would need the time, as well. Obi-Wan had no intention of exploring the temple ruins without a guide.

As he descended the ramp into a chilly, gentle breeze, the last thing Obi-Wan expected was to be greeted by the business end of an ignited lightsaber. The Whiphid Jedi behind it, easily as massive as Pulkka, bared his tusks at them.

"This place is not meant for pirates and smugglers. You will depart immediately." The accompanying shove in the Force showed the Jedi was not open to negotiation.

Obi-Wan frowned. There was something _intensely_ familiar about the Jedi, and he made certain his shields were locked down tightly. He was absolutely certain that he'd known the man at some point in his apprenticeship.

Pulkka's deep, rumbling laugh echoed from the cliffside. "You always were the uncompromising one, K'kruhk."

The Jedi's eyes widened and the end of his lightsaber dropped a few centimeters. "Grandmother."

"Don't be rude, Grandson," she chuckled. "We didn't come here to steal things."

K'kruhk extinguished his blade, still a bit gobsmacked. "Why are you here, then?"

"That's a tale better told over a cup of tea," Pulkka said pointedly.

The rest of them were treated to the rare sight of a grown Jedi Knight standing abashed. "Of course," he muttered. "Follow me."

Obi-Wan fell back to walk alongside Pulkka through the ankle-deep snow covering the path. "Grandson?"

"The fifth-son of my third-daughter's first-daughter's second-son's third-son," she said proudly. "It was an honour for him to be chosen by the Order."

It took Obi-Wan a moment to parse the confusing lineage. "I didn't think Whiphids kept track of their descendants. Your society is very loosely knit."

"True, but elders get to meet every little one when they're born. It's a way of letting the previous generations know our contributions to our society are continuing."

After a moment, Obi-Wan said, "I've never asked before, but how many children did you have?"

"Nine. Five have passed into the wind, the rest still live." She patted him on the back. "Don't say you're sorry. I'm old, and life on Toola is not easy. Whiphids have many offspring because we know at least half of them will not survive."

The outpost was barely warm enough to warrant removing their gloves, and it was understandable why the Order had sent a cold-adapted Knight to be the Watchman. K'kruhk said nothing further until everyone had a cup of hot spiced tea in their hands - everyone except Deesix, whom he ignored. The droid still took a seat at the low table; K'kruhk scowled at it, and Pulkka made a point of pulling a sixth cup from storage and pouring for Dee. It was all weirdly strained and awkward.

Knight K'kruhk finally settled on the remaining low cushion and said, "Very well. What brings you to Rhen Var?"

Pulkka gestured to Obi-Wan. "It's your story, hunt-brother."

Ignoring K'kruhk's chuff of surprise, Obi-Wan reached into his pocket and pulled out Ulic's crystal. "My name is Bastra. A few years ago, I came into possession of this, which I have been assured belonged to Ulic Qel-Droma. This is his final resting-place, and the crystal belongs here."

K'kruhk hissed as Obi-Wan unwrapped the crystal, showing its sickly red glow. "Do you know what you've been carrying around?"

Obi-Wan arched an eyebrow pointedly. "Of course I do. I wouldn't have brought it here otherwise. We want to see if it can be cleansed."

The Knight's entire face creased with disgust. "It might not be possible. That… _thing_ is a grotesque abomination-"

"Whoa, whoa! Okay, I was gonna play nice and stay quiet, but that's just rude and uncalled-for." Ulic materialised kneeling between Obi-Wan and Pulkka, glaring at the Jedi. "People have _feelings,_ you know."

K'kruhk's lightsaber was already out and pointed at Ulic, who gave it a disdainful stare. "You know that won't do anything to me, right?"

Remembering their long-ago discussion regarding whether Ulic could be harmed by a lightsaber, Obi-Wan bit down on a laugh. "Look, Master Jedi." He had to raise his voice over K'kruhk's growling. "We're here because of him. He asked us to bring him here."

"And what does a _Sith_ want on Rhen Var?" He uttered the word 'Sith' with loathing, as if it tasted foul.

"I want to talk to my better half. See if we can… reconcile. Or something." Ulic grimaced. "I'm tired of existing like this."

When K'kruhk glanced at him, Obi-Wan shrugged. "He's a spirit. We _could_ have stayed in the ship and he could have gone on without caring to ask permission. We're trying to be nice about this."

"You have all been in close contact with a _Sith_ entity for years, and are likely corrupted! By rights I should subdue and detain you all for the Order to investigate."

Pulkka rolled her eyes. "You're not going to do that. Put the lightsaber away, Grandson."

Obi-Wan's memory finally dredged where he'd known K'kruhk before - the Whiphid and his Master had been with their delegation during the Yinchorri Uprising a year before the incident on Naboo. K'kruhk had been knighted in the aftermath, his Master slain in the fighting.

He was more glad than ever that most non-human species had difficulty telling humans apart, and that his beard and long hair changed his appearance significantly. "Don't Jedi strive to cleanse Darkness from the galaxy?" he asked, referring to some of the more lurid holodramas featuring Jedi. "Here's a chance to return another piece to the Light." He could practically _feel_ Ulic resisting an eyeroll of epic proportions.

K'kruhk snorted and put his weapon down on the table. "We cleanse it by destroying it, smuggler. I wouldn't expect _you_ to understand." He glared at the piece of corrupted kyber sitting on the table. "Fine. But I'm coming with you."

The Jedi wouldn't hesitate to do everything he could to destroy Ulic - or the crystal, or any of the rest of them - if he thought things looked suspicious. Obi-Wan had no idea what was going to happen in the temple ruins, but he really hoped it wouldn't come down to him knocking K'kruhk out.

He wrapped Ulic's crystal again. "Whenever you're ready, then."

K'kruhk couldn't seem to be rid of them quickly enough; he knocked back the rest of his tea and barely waited for them to finish before throwing his cloak on and disappearing out into the snow.

Zohli frowned as she pulled her hat back over her ears. "He's really rude for a Jedi."

Feid shook her head. "Not everyone is a people person."

"He's in his first years as a Knight," Obi-Wan said quietly. He snapped his coat closed again. "Usually a Knight's journeyman years are spent in a working pair. I wonder why he doesn't have a partner."

Pulkka huffed. "He's become more prickly. Takes after his father."

The door whooshed open and K'kruhk stuck his head in. "Well?"

The weather remained fortunately mild; the passage to the temple, through a flat-bottomed gap in the glacier, was eerily still, the snow underfoot packed solid. It might have been dark enough to need glow-rods, but daylight filtered through the ice, casting everything in turquoise light. Zoh tucked her hand into Obi-Wan's, trusting him to guide her while she stared in awe.

"I could spend days just looking at all this."

Ahead of them, K'kruhk grumbled. "It's not that impressive."

Zohli wrinkled her nose at his back. "You don't have the soul of an artist."

The Knight froze and glanced back over his shoulder at them; Zoh returned the stare, undaunted. Ulic snickered but remained just behind Obi-Wan, as fully visible as he could manage so as not to upset the Jedi further.

"I can't guarantee he'll be here. Or want to talk to you," K'kruhk said. He sounded a little smug, and Obi-Wan squinted at him. "We don't command Force spirits, you know."

"I think I know myself better than that," Ulic sniped.

The path widened into a broad avenue of cracked stone tiles leading up to a crumbling entrance carved directly into the mountain; the stairs in front of it were uneven, as if the ground had rippled from the pressure of the ice.

Obi-Wan hesitated on the bottom step. "How do you want to handle this, Ulic?"

The spirit heaved a sigh. "I'll go first."

They reached the top step and Ulic stopped. "K'kruhk's such a pessimist."

"In fairness, I don't like showing myself to just anyone." A mirror image of Ulic appeared in front of him, dressed in simple Jedi robes four thousand years out of date. "What the _hell_ are you?"

Obi-Wan held up the crystal in silent answer. The Jedi spirit stared at it. "I was hoping that had been destroyed. I really have no luck."

"You didn't end up lost at the bottom of an ocean for a few hundred years," his Sith version countered, sounding bored. "Believe me, it could be worse."

"Was it at least interesting?"

"No."

They stared at each other for a long moment, and then Jedi Ulic looked past him at the rest of the group. "Kind of rude not to introduce your friends, ya know."

"You started it." Sith Ulic offered their names, ignoring K'kruhk, who had wandered up behind them to watch.

Jedi Ulic was polite, despite being displeased. He bowed to them, eyes lingering curiously on Obi-Wan, before turning his attention back to Sith Ulic. "Alright, so you're here. What do you want?"

Sith Ulic hesitated, and Obi-Wan spoke up. "The Guardians at the Temple on Jedha told us that your Sith half here is a fragment broken from the larger whole; that meaning you. If either of you want to move on from this plane in the future, you need to reconcile."

K'kruhk had twitched when Obi-Wan named the Guardians; he glared at them. "I knew you were holding something back."

"It doesn't concern you, personally, does it?" Sith Ulic growled.

Jedi Ulic squeezed his eyes shut. "Peace. Please. I did wonder why the Force never called me all these years. I'm not sure I'm happy with the implications, though."

"Of course it isn't an easy decision to make. Or one to be made quickly. I'm willing to wait on you," Sith Ulic said reassuringly.

Jedi Ulic ran a hand over his face and turned to pace along the threshold of the temple. "And if I choose not to reconcile?"

Sith Ulic rolled his shoulders in something that wasn't quite a shrug. "I have friends who still welcome me." He gestured to Obi-Wan and his family. "I don't have to stay here."

Obi-Wan was fully prepared to make some provisions for Ulic going forward, if necessary. He nodded. "He's been good company."

Rubbing his chin, Jedi Ulic walked right up to Sith Ulic and said, "I want you to stay here while I consider things. We can get to know each other." He smirked, and his Sith counterpart echoed the smile.

"Sounds boring. But fine."

"What do you want to do with the crystal?" Obi-Wan asked.

K'kruhk started to volunteer to take it, when invisible fingers plucked the crystal from Obi-Wan's grasp; it drifted over to float above Jedi Ulic's hand, slowly spinning and shedding crimson sparks.

"We'll take care of it." Jedi spirit glanced at Sith spirit, who nodded. "Some things shouldn't be risked getting lost in a box at the outpost."

"You'll let me know when you've made a decision?" Obi-Wan asked. A twist of anxiety settled in his gut - Ulic had been such an integral part of his life for over four years, now it almost felt… too quick.

Sith Ulic was clearly feeling the same: he turned and lightly rested a hand on Obi-Wan's shoulder, just enough for him to feel the weight but not the chill. "I'm not gonna leave without saying goodbye, kid," he said firmly.

"Not what I was asking. You're my friend, Ulic. I care about what happens to you." He tried to smile, but it was inexplicably difficult.

"We'll let you know. It's not like you'll be on the other side of the galaxy. I'll… send you a dream or something." Sith Ulic grinned, but there was a wobble to the corners of his mouth as he turned and followed his Jedi self into the darkness of the temple.

The group of them stood in silence for a moment. Zoh squeezed Obi-Wan's hand; he squeezed back and turned, offering her his other hand. "Let's go. There's nothing more to be done here." It felt strange, not being involved in something affecting one of his friends, but not everything revolved around Obi-Wan. Ulic had meant what he said about contacting him, and Mandalore was relatively close in galactic terms. They'd see each other again.

* * *

_Reformation Year 981.04.02  
Corellia_

This was turning into yet another bad year for Booster Terrik. After losing the _Eidolon Hazard_ and then the _Turning Point,_ he was back to leasing a freighter from Five Brothers Shipping. It wouldn't be so bad, except that his lease cost more than the upkeep of the _Hazard_ ever had, leaving him unable to save credits to purchase another. And Five Brothers had the best lease agreements in the sector.

He glared into the depths of his ale. First Bastra - who was a truly gifted navigator despite his quirks - had left, then Tovari got called home. The _Point,_ that piece of crap he'd bought as a replacement for the _Hazard,_ had been too expensive on the upkeep and they'd had to start taking less-savoury jobs from Hutts who would pay good credits to have their illegal goods slipped past planetary customs, and Fan'udar had cited moral issues. Which, being from Ryloth, a planet already ravaged by Hutt greed, Booster could understand. Then the _Point'_s sublights had failed, and, well… okay, it had been one thing on top of another, and he'd taken his frustrations out on Feid. He didn't blame her for any of it - shit, he didn't blame _Bastra,_ he hoped the kid was doing alright, wherever he'd ended up. Feid and Pulkka had left, and honestly, a crew of one couldn't handle a full freighter. But he was trying.

He was so tired.

It wasn't like he was out of options; it was just that the remaining option to keep flying was to apply to haul full-time for a corporation. And the thought of signing away his freedom - his choice of cargos, his choice of clients, his choice of location and even _ship_ \- made him want to rage.

He would _not_ throw his mug at the wall. This was a civilised tapcafe, for fuck's sake.

"Are you Booster Terrik?"

He glanced up from his reverie to see a young human woman - if she was out of her teens, he'd salt his lease contract and eat it - wearing a nondescript blue coverall, her red hair pulled back from her face with a utilitarian clip.

"That's me, yeah. What can I do for you?"

She gave him a funny little smile. "I have some cargo I need to get home to Concordia, but my regular pilot caught some sort of flu…"

"Corellian flu, yeah. It's that time of year." He gestured for her to join him at the table. "Have a seat, we can discuss what you need, Miss…"

She claimed the other chair as if she owned it. "Call me Bo."


	6. Chapter 6: Synchronicity

**CHAPTER 06: Synchronicity**

_Reformation Year 981.04.02_

_Rhen Var_

There had always been a piece of himself missing. He'd known it instinctively; he'd thought it was just a remnant of Nomi's righteous vengeance upon him for what he'd done.

In a way, he'd been right.

Spirits weren't really intended to linger for very long; eventually the Force would draw them deeper, back to where they belonged, to fade into oneness. After the first thousand years without so much as a nudge, he should have figured out that something was wrong, but the passage of time didn't mean much to a being who no longer had need for sleep or food.

Ulic frowned at the corrupted remains of his old lightsaber crystal. The question he'd been silently asking for two millennia was finally answered, and he didn't like it. After hearing what his Darker aspect had to say - of four thousand years of intermittent boredom followed by a recent decade of events that were genuinely concerning - Ulic had begged for time to consider things.

He had no idea where his Darker aspect was, just now. Possibly exploring the ruins or badgering poor K'kruhk.

His Darker aspect wanted to stay in the world: he'd grown attached to his companions, and while Ulic couldn't quite understand his commitment to a Sith rivalry, he could appreciate wanting to see a Sith Lord erased from the universe. Ulic had been deeply - justifiably - concerned that this alternate version of himself would be as out of control and violent as he had been before the Jedi had stopped him, but had found instead an almost painful self-awareness in the other, the kind of pain that comes from knowing that the choices they had made were still theirs.

K'kruhk had tried to justify the idea of destroying this Darker aspect of Ulic. _"The evil wrought at your hands was clearly his doing, not yours. The galaxy would be a better place without him."_

Ulic couldn't agree, however. All beings had the potential for both Light and Dark; an attempt to separate those aspects of common nature would be both disingenuous and philosophically dangerous. The actions in his previous life were still a part of his memory, even with the Darkness burnt away or severed; despite Ulic's Lightness, he had still been responsible. To deny that would be to deny himself.

The crystal's corruption was his own fault, as well, and while he wasn't bound to it, himself, an essential piece of himself _was._ The piece that had been missing for four thousand years.

"Man, I thought Dooku was broody. You have a hard time easing up, don't you?"

While Ulic looked much as he had in his later years, including the greying hair and the deep scar he'd carved across the brand on his forehead in an effort to be rid of it, his Darker aspect retained the appearance he'd had during his conquest at the head of the Krath. His dark robes and armour looked incongruous in the heart of the temple, lounging on the end of Ulic's own tomb, and he wore the Sith-made brand almost proudly. Ulic once again allowed himself to explore his grave misgivings over the situation as he glared at the other. "Do you take anything seriously?"

The insouciant grin vanished. "I take everything seriously. You think I'd be here otherwise?"

Ulic sighed and looked away, back to the floating red crystal. He tapped it to set it spinning, just for the hell of it. "You want me to help you. Against this Sidious."

"One last hurrah, for old times' sake." There was something ugly behind his smile, but it wasn't directed at Ulic. The Sith Lord, presumably.

The idea of reclaiming his lost fragments, of being whole, of… of _feeling the Force again_ was so powerfully compelling. The chance to do something about yet another individual conspiring to destroy the Jedi was one Ulic would gladly take. But he didn't _like_ this severed piece of himself, this cynical asshole who seemed entirely unrepentant of his inherent Darkness.

The aspect of himself who was giving him a knowing look. "We all have parts of ourselves we're not proud of, you know. Shit, there's stuff about _myself_ I'm not proud of, but I have to exist with it anyway." He slid off the tomb and stalked over, leaning into Ulic's face. "But if you think that destroying me will remove those parts of yourself forever, think again. I'm you. Just Dark. That's the _only_ difference. What we did? We did together." He prodded Ulic's shoulder. "Tell me honestly if you think it's the right thing to do to just walk away from what's going on right now."

"I-"

"Would you rather petrify here on this ice cube for another four thousand years? Because I have no compunctions against contacting the kid and leaving you here."

"K'kruhk wants to destroy your crystal."

_"Our_ crystal. K'kruhk is an ass who only thinks he knows what's what. Come on, man. I _know_ you, this isn't something you can just ignore."

Ulic pushed the other's hand down and turned, stalking away from him. "What do you need me for? You were doing fine on your own."

"I really was not. I have as much power as a gust of wind. A really strong gust of wind, but that's all I can do."

Glaring at him, Ulic gritted through clenched teeth, "You're asking me to turn my back on the Light. For you."

"For the galaxy. For the Republic. For the _Jedi."_ His Darker aspect ran his hands through his hair in exasperation. "Fine. Fuck you. You're too self-righteous to want to actually do the right thing. It's not as if we haven't already sacrificed everything we cared about for the _wrong_ reasons." Before Ulic could reply the other vanished, leaving him speechless and alone.

Ulic dragged his hands over his face, feeling exhausted in a way he hadn't in millennia.

If the mistakes of his past, the choices that cost him so dearly, hadn't been _his_ as well as his Darker side's, he shouldn't remember them so keenly. His Dark aspect had no choice but to be as he was, but he wasn't _only_ the Darker parts of Ulic; merely the Darkness that should be a part of a whole being.

Sighing, Ulic reached out to the corrupted crystal.

* * *

_The Stoic Manta_

Bo-Katan Kryze sipped her caf in the freighter's cramped lounge, trying to dredge some optimism out of the depths of her disappointment. The Phel kid hadn't shown up at xir usual pilots' watering hole, not for a couple days, and a non-pilot seeking a ship can't really linger in such places too long without drawing attention of the unwelcome variety. Just her luck Booster Terrik - Bastra's last known employer - had been in, and Bo had decided to try to make something of the mess. Terrik was accommodating enough, especially when she told him the supplies were for Concordia. The New Mandalorians' sanctions on the _Kyr'tsad_ meant there would be no competition for trade to Mandalore's moon.

Now she was left with the problem of getting him talking about his former crewmate. Terrik could talk a good game, but he steered clear of anything remotely personal, at least with a total stranger paying him for passage. Bo slouched on the curved couch and tried to get lost in the cutesy Corellian game she'd installed on her datapad. It was so funny how the designers thought you could harvest grain with a vibroblade.

Just about the time she'd discovered that credit gems lurked in clay pots, and the only way to get them out was to smash the pots, the captain himself wandered in and went straight for the caf maker. He winced at the high-pitched, cartoonish noises from her game, and she turned the volume down.

_"Son of Kronar,_ huh?"

Bo shrugged and smashed another pot into brightly coloured holographic shards. "It looked like fun." It had also looked like it wouldn't overpower the aging processor on her third-hand datapad. The Duchess' - she found it difficult to reconcile that bleached-out, acid-sweet, vengeful woman with the sunny, optimistic girl who had been her older sister - policies had stunted even Concordia's technology, leading to a booming civilian business in reclaimed and refurbished essentials.

"It's a classic." He offered a half-hearted smile. "But I guess you don't get much in the way of recreational imports on Concordia."

She glanced up and arched a copper-hued eyebrow at him as he sat facing her. "You're smuggling in freeze-dried staple vegetables and dehydrated tea. We don't get imported _anything_ on Concordia."

He winced and turned his attention to his breakfast of instant hot cereal, and Bo mentally kicked herself. Getting him talking wasn't going to happen if she kept shutting him down. "Sorry. It's a sore spot."

"No, I get it. There's a reason things have to get smuggled in."

They drank their caf in silence for a bit, the quiet broken only by the sound of Bo's game. She waited until she'd finished the chapter, and while the next loaded, she commented, "This is a pretty big ship for only one guy and a pair of droids. What happens if you get pirated?"

Terrik shrugged. "Then I get pirated."

"You don't want a larger crew?"

"Considering what the lease on this hulk costs, and how business has been suffering? Can't afford it." He scowled into his mug. "Used to have a crew. Had a run of bad luck a few years ago and they headed for greener fields. Pack of assholes, but I miss 'em."

Bo tweaked a smile at him. "Oh? Who was your favourite?" When he raised a dark brow at her, she coaxed, "C'mon, everyone has one crewmate they like better than the others."

"Heh," he huffed, but seemed to give it serious thought. "Feid, probably. Zabrak woman. She could piss me off - we had some huge arguments at times. Never had a better XO, though."

Enlightening, but not what she was hoping for. "What happened to her?"

Terrik made a non-committal sound into his caf. "She and Pulkka - old Whiphid woman, really good with the machinery - were a team before they signed on with me. They signed off together too. Went to Ord Mantell in search of muscle jobs." He sighed. "I wasn't worried about pirates with them around. Fan was mostly muscle, too - great shot with a blaster - but he was also a decent medic. We really needed him a time or two. But he couldn't tolerate hauling for the Hutts. Can't blame him. If Bastra had been around at the time, he probably would've left too; that kid had way too many morals."

Now they were getting somewhere. "Too many morals?"

Terrik started to speak, then frowned. "He had that air of someone who's too nice for their own good, you know? Oh, he could handle a blaster just fine, but he always had this kooky idea that any fight could be talked around. _Any_ fight. Good way to get yourself killed."

Bo carefully focused on her game instead of his face; what he'd said hadn't been the first thing he wanted to say. It was probably true, but Terrik was hiding something. "What a weirdo. I hope he learned a few things from you."

He shrugged. "No idea. Lost track of him after we dropped him off on Mandalore."

It was a struggle to keep her tone light and curious. "Doesn't sound like any sort of Mandalorian I've ever met."

Terrik sputtered a laugh into his drink. "Oh, fuck, no, that kid was as Coruscanti as I am Corellian. He just had a friend in Sundari who offered to let him stay for a while."

Suddenly too incandescently furious to give a proper response, Bo settled for a non-committal, "Oh."

Terrik was sharp, though. "Yeah," he said simply. He stuck his empty mug in the washer and went to the cockpit, leaving her alone with her thoughts.

She let her game idle. The Bastra from Keldabe - a mercenary with a mysterious history, unusual training, and by all appearances Fett's partner - didn't seem the sort to be welcomed in Sundari. Not for very long, anyway. And why _would_ he have gone there anyway? Unless….

Unless Fett's push to revitalise the Mando'adë had been going on longer than they realised. Unless those plans somehow included the New Mandalorians. Unless, unless, unless.

Safe in the Ducal estate on Kalevala, Bo-Katan Kryze had been too distant from the Mandalorian Civil War when it had happened to truly appreciate its scope, but she remembered the pain. She'd been eleven Standard - two years too young to be sent to school with Satine on Coruscant - when their father, Duke Arden, returned home briefly, grim-faced and bearing a squalling infant he claimed as his grandson, before returning to their people on Mandalore. Seven months later, the War had reached Sundari, and Bo and Satine were orphans.

While Satine evaded Death Watch's hunters and attempted to reclaim the Sundari throne from Tor Vizsla, Bo had practically raised little Korkie by herself, all the while grieving the loss of their father. The next time she'd seen her remaining sister, after Sundari had been retaken, after Tor Vizsla had reportedly been murdered by Jango Fett, all Satine's joy seemed to have been burnt away. What remained had been uncompromising and cold, prone to quick and decisive actions and dismissive of criticism.

_"You weren't there, Kat. You didn't see what I saw. We're all that's left of House Kryze; we cannot allow this to happen again!"_

The New Mandalorians had always advocated for peaceable resolutions over combat; with Satine their declared Mand'alor, the Resol'narë was stripped down to a shadow of its former self. No armour, no training - self defense was permitted, but only without weapons. No carrying of the beskad'ika, the little traditional beskar self-defense knives young Sundariise were traditionally given on their thirteenth birthday. The sound of Mando'a spoken on the street became a symbol of rebellion, met with sharp questions from the Sundari Guard.

As an heir of the Duchy, Bo had been expected to learn all about Mandalorian cultures, so that if the throne ever passed to her, she could govern well. She couldn't help but wonder at what their parents might make of Satine's new policies. Her sister might scorn the resentful stares as they passed in the streets with their security detail, stating that the people knew she had their best interests at heart, but they worried Bo. When she was fifteen, she started sneaking out at night, dressing in common street clothes and sitting in the cantinas, ears pricked for whispers of Mando'a.

People spoke of training in secret, of leaving Sundari. Many had hoped Fett would return - they didn't trust Satine's new policies to keep them and their families safe - but as time passed and it became clear that Fett had abandoned Mandalore, the rumour grew that Pre Vizsla, Tor's eldest son, was rebuilding.

Bo knew about Pre - they were distant cousins courtesy of her mother's Mandalorian side of the family, the side responsible for the Kryze sisters' red hair, before Satine had chosen to bleach away all links to the violent past and bedeck herself in opals and lilies. Bo joined conversations, said the right words, and eventually gained an invitation to a clandestine gathering where Pre spoke pretty words about reclaiming Mandalorian culture. He was disdainful of the tight control Kalevala held over trade and Mandalore's way of life, the way Satine's policies had forced everyone to practice in secret and deny publicly that they were Mandalorian at all.

Toward the end of things, Bo felt eyes on her; a man she recognised from Matsuuri's security teams was standing by one wall, taking note of the faces in the crowd.

She cursed softly. If he'd recognised her - and he likely had - she would end up either locked away in the palace or sent back to Kalevala to stay with her nephew, where her options for doing anything for herself were nonexistent. Most of the people in the room would end up in the palace's prison, detained for questioning.

As subtly as she could, Bo approached one of Vizsla's people who was guarding the door. "There's a spy in here," she whispered, and pointed the man out. Within moments he was surrounded and knocked unconscious, and Bo found herself under intense scrutiny.

"Who are you?" Vizsla demanded.

Pulling her hood back, Bo said, "I am Bo-Katan Kryze, and I do not support what my sister has done."

Vizsla had her brought with them back to a safe house, where he questioned her closely, still not entirely trusting that the situation hadn't been a setup to sneak a spy into the _Kyr'tsad._ When they departed Mandalore for Concordia, Bo had gone with them willingly.

In eight years with the _Kyr'tsad,_ she had never once doubted her choice.

But now…. Now she wondered. If Fett had returned after Galidraan, if he hadn't apparently given up on his people, would she have ever considered joining Vizsla? Would Vizsla have even gained half the traction he had in the wake of his father's death?

How many Mandalorians only followed Vizsla because Satine's policies had outlawed their culture?

Bastra had been accepted as a Mandalorian among the Mando'adë; Bastra had friends in Sundari. Bastra was, by all appearances, courting Fett, and the attention definitely wasn't unrequited.

Fett was planning something, and whatever it was, Bo wanted in.

* * *

_Kamino_

Jango preferred Tipoca City at night, with the lights dimmed for the sleep cycle and most of the residents asleep. It was quiet enough that he could almost fool himself into thinking he could hear the rain drumming against the outer shell of the structure, although that was more likely the air circulation systems.

Usually he tried to sack out at the same time as everyone else, but the last few nights had been frustratingly sleepless. The reason for the insomnia had less to do with wildly disparate day cycles and more to do with the lack of company.

Kriff it all: he missed Scogar.

They'd spent three days practically living in each other's pockets, deeply embedded in each other's personal space, and he'd kept waiting for the edginess to kick in, the intense need for hours of personal privacy to interrupt something that was unexpectedly domestic. It never had. He knew it would hit him eventually, but being separated after three days had broken the cycle early.

It was possible that having his son around almost constantly now was making him more comfortable with the presence of others. Jango frowned as he poked through the cabinet in the residential-level medbay, searching for sedatives. His tolerance for company was something to consider, but later.

The door slid open and he glanced over his shoulder to see a curious and rather rumpled Cort peering in.

"Kriff it, Jango, when you slice a lock, disable the alert system."

Jango smirked; he hadn't given a damn about the alert system, but taking the lift up two levels to get the access card had been more effort than he cared to make at this time of the morning. "Why do you have the alert system wired to your comm?"

"Because the older kids are getting inventive." Cort shambled over to see what Jango had taken from the cabinet. "Trouble sleeping?"

"Hm." He tipped an appropriate dose into his hand and reached for the waiting cup of water. "Haven't spent that much time back home for a while. Manda's haunting me." The pill bottle went back in its place, and he marked down what he'd taken on the list taped inside the cabinet door.

Cort raised an eyebrow and rubbed the side of his stubbled jaw. "Is it really Manda, or is it memories of a certain someone?"

"It is too blasted early for teasing, Cort." The lot of them had been giving him a hard time about Scogar - whom they had learned about via Midha's latest letter to Sikkaah. Either it was teasing him about a mid-life crisis - he wasn't even that old, damn it! Thirty-six was not anywhere _near_ middle age! - or it was envious comments about being able to date someone at all.

A memory rose, unbidden, of kissing Scogar farewell on the ramp of the _Slave I,_ slow and sweet, and the tenderness in the press of their foreheads together afterward. The way he'd murmured, _"Comm me,"_ with more promise than any more overt declaration of affection might have held.

He really should comm Scogar.

"It's never too early for teasing. You know it won't be official until he gets Kal's seal of approval."

Kal Skirata had been thrilled at the prospect of having a proper sparring partner; not many Mando'adë practised the _beskad_ in the centuries since the last war between Mandalorians and Jedi. The Cuy'val Dar were all still on contract for another five years, but that didn't stop Kal from wanting to see how the younger man could fight against a 'real' opponent.

"That might take a while. Provided certain information never gets out." He gave Cort a sharp glance and the other man held his hands up.

"If they find out who he used to be, it won't be from me. Or Sikkaah. Far as I'm concerned, Bastra earned his second chance years ago when he tried to fight a Wookiee and won."

There was a muffled squeak of surprise from underfoot and Jango leaned over to pull up one of the access panels on the floor. "Busted. Everyone out."

Three apparent nine-year olds crawled one after the other out of the service duct. One of the boys had bright blond hair - one of the many examples of genetic mutation that gave the Kaminiisë fits - cropped close to his scalp as if to not draw attention to it, while the other boy's black hair was reaching the fluffy stage. Their sister had her dark curls done in the small, nubby twists Sikkaah had shown them to keep longer hair from tangling. The three stood at attention, fear lurking in the back of their eyes.

Jango sighed and folded his arms, flashing Cort a quick _at-ease_ handsign. "What are you breaking in here for?"

The blond boy frowned. "We're not, sir. Well, not _for_ anything. The lock's a good one to practice on, but we really just wanted to know how far we could get via the ducts tonight. Sir."

The corner of Cort's mouth twitched. "Learn to be quieter next time."

All three kids flushed bright red and mumbled, "Yes, sir." Then their eyes went wide as Jango gestured to the open hatch.

"Well, you have five hours before _vaar'tuur,_ don't waste any of it."

The kids hesitated. "Who were you talking about, Sergeant?" the girl asked. "Who won a fight with a Wookiee?"

Before Jango could think of what to say, Cort laughed. "Fett's boyfriend. He's a skifter, never know what he's gonna pull."

Jango glared at Cort. That piece of information was now going to be news across all of Tipoca by noon. "Thanks, Davin. They needed to know that." The three kids were practically vibrating with excitement. "Right, go on with you. It's either that or back to the barracks."

The kids scuttled back into the ductwork and Cort shook his head. "You really want to encourage that kind of behaviour?" he asked, but softly.

"It's good training."

Cort followed him out, ensuring the door was locked. "They're meant to be a highly disciplined army, though."

"The client wants them to be the _best_ army in the galaxy. Discipline is part of that," Jango agreed, "but so is learning to take initiative, improving skills for one's own sake and not just because they're ordered to, and testing limits. Scared soldiers make shitty soldiers. If the kids had been stealing things, it'd be an entirely different matter, but just finding out the ducts were there and how to get into 'em? That took skill and I'm impressed."

"Like with the kid with the blaster power pack?"

Jango grinned. "I did put the squad down for cleaning up that mess. But I'm not going to punish cadets for refusing to fail when they're set up for it."

"We have no-win scenarios planned for when they're more advanced," Cort warned softly.

"And I'm interested to see how they handle those situations. I also didn't want to publicly undermine them in front of Kom'rk and Vau. Vau does enough undermining, as it is." Jango started to turn toward the corridor where his apartment lay, but Cort caught his arm and tugged him in the direction of Jango's office.

Once they were behind closed doors, Cort said, "Speaking of Vau, I have concerns about him and his training methods. I know Sikkaah wants a word with you about him, too. What were you thinking, bringing someone like him on for this?"

"What are your concerns, exactly?"

Cort's face twisted with disgust. "His methods are brutal. Not a week goes by where one of his kids doesn't end up in medical, and he pushes them back into training before they've had a chance to fully heal up. I'm talking sprained joints, broken bones, concussion, dehydration. Maybe it gets them used to slogging through in the worst situations, but at what cost to their physical and mental health? They're still children, dammit, there are limits!"

Jango leaned against his desk, frowning. What he'd been thinking, at the time, was that if Tyranus wanted the best trainers for the cadets, trainers who wouldn't be missed for a period of twelve years, it left him with only an extremely narrow subset of mercenaries to choose from. And that subset included people with no family and thus nothing left to lose, or people whom nobody cared about.

Anti-social lone-raquor'daan types with authority problems were less than ideal, but they were also the ones who were willing to volunteer for an extended commission worth a _lot_ of credits. There had been exceptions, of course, mercenaries whose _aliitë_ knew better than to ask questions. Cort and Sikkah were among the levelheaded few Jango trusted to balance out the _shabuirë;_ their families were also in the mercenary business, and as long as everyone had occasional evidence they were still alive, they knew better than to ask questions.

Vau was a good warrior. He was also a terrible _person_ and a lousy trainer. Maybe Jango could get him out of the instruction role and more into designing the training courses. There was still the matter of the Delta clones he'd been turning into his own personal hit-squad, but something could be worked out.

The sedatives were starting to kick in: he could feel them dragging at the back of his eyes. Jango gripped Cort's shoulder. "Go back to bed, get some sleep. Tomorrow - _not tonight,_ dammit, I know you too well, save it for morning - get me all the data on the stuff Vau's been doing, and on the Delta group. I'll see if there isn't a more suitable role for him."

"Mopping floors," Cort grumbled, but he squeezed Jango's arm in return.

* * *

Hidden behind the air duct grate at the base of the wall, Sixty-Seven, Twenty-One, and Eighty-Six exchanged wide-eyed looks in the dim light. That was definitely a conversation they hadn't been meant to overhear. But just as with the one in the med-bay, the sound of voices had drawn them in out of curiosity.

Twenty-One rolled back to a sitting position with her head tilted under the low ceiling. "Vau's getting pulled off the training lineup?"

Eighty-Six settled back on his heels, elbows braced on the floor of the duct. "Sounds like it. That's a good thing, right?"

"I wouldn't be sad to not see him again," Sixty-Seven muttered. "I was in Medical for another set of tests because of my stupid hair, and two of the Deltas were in for injuries. I heard 'em talking. You know he makes them fight each other? Live-fire exercises, too."

His friends paled. As harrowing as the standard training could be, the most they had to worry about was being knocked unconscious or getting a bearable electrical shock; being hollered at by the trainers was worse. The idea of having to fight each other - not the light sparring from training, but actually being made to beat each other up - made him feel sick. The Deltas weren't even that much older than their batch, for all they liked to act like it.

"We can't tell anyone we heard that," Eighty-Six said, wide-eyed and pale. "If it gets back to Vau…."

Sixty-Seven shuddered. "Yeah, no thanks."

By some unspoken agreement, all three of them headed back towards the barracks. As they went, Twenty-One murmured, "Think Fett will bring his _riduur_ here? I kinda want to meet someone who can beat a Wookiee."

"Not likely," Eighty-Six said with a snort. "This is all super secret. Even Sergeant Maihl's _riduur_ doesn't know where she is, and they wouldn't bring in any new trainers this late."

"Training has to end sometime-" Twenty-One insisted.

"Yeah, and then we'll be on the front lines fighting," Sixty-Seven said. They were being trained for a reason. They didn't know _who_ they might be fighting in the future, but the Republic and the Jedi needed soldiers, and the _vodë_ were meant to fill that role. The odds of ever seeing their trainers - or Fett, or anyone from Fett's family - after they received their assignments were slim to none.

"You ever think about what our trainers do when they're not training us?" Twenty-One shook her head. "I was curious and did some searching. They're all mercenaries and bounty hunters. You know what that means, right? Sometimes they're on the wrong side of the Republic. That means we might have to fight them."

Sixty-Seven and Eighty-Six paused and exchanged a worried glance. If their trainers might someday accept commissions from the enemy of the Republic, how could the cadets trust them? How could the _Republic_ trust them?

"But what are we supposed to do about it?" he found himself asking.

Eighty-Six shook his head and started crawling after Twenty-One again. "Nothing we can do _vod._ Not right now, anyway. But… maybe we should just be extra careful."

Extra careful. Right. Sixty-Seven was already being as careful as he could be, with Nala Se running tests almost daily to make certain that the genetic mutation that had given him blond hair hadn't affected him in other ways. He was far from the only one on the receiving end of medical suspicion, and there were several who had already been shifted from the combat track to 'less strenuous' positions like maintenance, like poor Ninety-Nine. There was nothing inherently wrong about being in maintenance or any other support role, but he'd seen how they were treated by the _Kaminiisë_ and the trainers. Some of his _vodë_ had started following their example, too.

Sixty-Seven would just have to make certain to show that it didn't hold him back.

* * *

_Corellia_

_"Why did we ever let you think you could be a Jedi at all?"_

His dad's mocking voice echoed from everywhere and nowhere, and Valin wrapped his arms around himself, hugging tightly against the chill.

_"You even _admit _that you struggle with the tenets; perhaps this was the wrong place for you."_

It didn't help that he _knew_ how his dad felt, that he _knew_ that this was a test. The words still cut his soul to the bone with that tone of cold dismissal.

Valin could turn right back around, walk out the door, and leave this shitty place in his dust. He didn't have to tolerate being taunted about his own failings! Except….

Except the thought of giving whatever it was the satisfaction of seeing him give up _galled_ him. Valin glared at the nothing around him. "You know what? You're right. Okay? You're right. I struggle. I'm not perfect. There isn't a day that I don't have trouble. But you know what? Nobody ever _let_ me think I could be a Jedi. They always made sure I knew I could change my mind. If I walked out of here right now, I could get a job, live like a normal person, and find happiness there, too.

"But this? I _chose_ this. I struggle with myself, with the philosophy, because I _choose_ to. I _choose_ to try, every day, because I want to be better. I'll never be perfect - nobody is - but making the _choice_ to do better is what makes us who we are. 'Jedi' is more than a title," he declared, with a sudden thrill of enlightenment running through him. "It's a path with no end. I bet there isn't a single Jedi in this Order, any of the Orders, who doesn't struggle every day. Because the day we decide we don't have to struggle anymore is the day we stop being Jedi. Also, _fuck you."_

He awoke with the dream-memory of delighted laughter still ringing in his ears, staring into the darkness of his room. His Trial had taken less than a day, and it had been… harrowing. Val remembered when he was little, seeing a flock of gulls harassing a piper on the beach. The Trial had felt like that: surrounded by bigger things he couldn't defend against, getting pecked at and smacked around for daring to pick up a snail.

His mom had rescued the piper as best she could by flapping her sunhat at the gulls; the piper had scuttled off down the waterline, but not before grabbing the snail in its toothed beak.

Valin had walked out of the Chamber of Trials, clutching everything that he was like that piper had clutched its snail, and the Masters had smiled proudly, declaring that he had passed, before handing him over to his family and his partner.

Phel lay in their bed behind him now, sleeping peacefully, and Val rolled over, tracing his fingertips lightly down xir cheek. Of all the things the Chamber could have hurt him with the most, his relationship with Phel had never been thrown in his face or picked apart. Maybe because it was one of the few parts of his life he had no doubts about.

It might not last forever. Phel might decide to move on; they might have a falling-out; they might slowly drift apart over time, as some partners did. And that was okay. Breakups hurt, of course - Val had had a few of his own already - but if you didn't resent the differences that caused them, friendship was still possible. And more than anything, Val loved Phel as his _friend._

"Mmm?" Phel's eyes opened slowly, their colour washed to black in the darkness.

Val pressed his lips to xir forehead. "Sorry, didn't mean to wake you."

"You were yelling," Phel murmured as xe tucked in against Val's chest. "In a place that isn't a place?"

Running his fingers through xir hair, Val nodded. It wasn't the first time Phel had picked up on his dreams. Everyone from the Corellian Order who met Phel recognised xir potential; everyone knew better than to suggest training. The little bit Phel had learned from Obi-Wan - _Scogar,_ he reminded himself - was enough to prevent xir feelings from leaking everywhere, but the unfortunate down-side of having any training at all was an increased ability to pick up on things from others.

"My Trial."

"Mmmh." Phel burrowed in against his chest and wrapped an arm around Valin's ribs, squeezing tightly. "Looked like it sucked."

Val rearranged the blankets so they weren't covering Phel's head and slipped his arm back underneath to curl around xir shoulders. "It did." He hesitated over a question that was really better asked when they were both fully awake. "They're going to start sending me out on missions on my own soon. Well, with a partner. But not Dad."

"Not that soon."

"No, but… soon. Maybe… maybe you'd want to be our pilot?"

Phel pulled back a little and squinted at him. "They'd allow that?"

"Dad suggested it." It would be a good cover - Phel was a registered independent hauler who was open to taking passengers. Val's mom was very open about how distressing it often was when his dad was off on his assignments for days and weeks and sometimes even months at a time; as a Corellian Order pilot, Phel wouldn't have any of that isolation and worry. Phel was trustworthy, known to the Green Council, and accustomed to being in risky situations. Xe also had a lot of skills in slightly less than legal fields, like slicing, and an astromech droid with a mischievous streak.

Val's dad had suggested that having backup like that would be useful, but Val really knew that the idea only existed because his partner was _Phel._

"As long as I get paid," Phel mumbled sleepily, a grin in xir voice.

Val chuckled softly and kissed xir forehead again, murmuring, "My favourite mercenary."

* * *

_Outland Transit Station_

Thirty years of lacking freedom of movement, the ability to go anywhere they pleased, formed difficult habits to break. Even Ruuli struggled with the knowledge that she was allowed to go anywhere she wished within the station, as long as the doors opened for her.

Scogar had given her and Qiiun credit sticks with more than enough funds to purchase food, clothing, and sundries from the station vendors. The first day, she had sat for half an hour, marveling at the little plas-coated stick that contained so much, that represented so much trust and _freedom._

Having the legal advisors helped. While Scogar was away - _arranging a home_ for them, and wasn't that astonishing on its own? - the advisors had encouraged the members of their group to explore at will. The station security droids were polite and helpful, and were never out of sight when Ruuli ventured into the station's market district. It didn't feel like they were being _watched_ so much as _looked-out for,_ though, and she had the feeling they would intervene swiftly if anyone attempted to harm her.

Then Scogar had returned, with holos of a _beautiful_ valley, and a city of low buildings under a warm sun, with lists of plans and equipment and guides for settling. And when he worked on the plans, he asked Ruuli and Qiiun to join him, and invited anyone else who was interested to sit in on their planning and research. No decisions were made without their input; it was the clearest reminder that their needs and wants and opinions _mattered_ now. That they had some control over their futures.

Ruuli wanted her education; many of them did. Scogar acquired academic testing and helped them register for the courses they wanted. A number of their group had disabilities to accommodate for; Scogar helped them acquire limb braces and prosthetics and even a small companion droid that could monitor for changes in health. He never told them what it cost nor demanded repayment.

It had to cost something, possibly even a lot. Maybe they weren't being asked to pay him and his crew back, but many in their group had expressed the desire to do _something_ for them. They all sat down together one night and discussed what could be done.

"We could ensure this farm prospers for him?" Tinti suggested.

Qiiun shook his head. [[Scogar insists the proceeds from the farm will be ours, and that we can choose what to do with it. Besides, trying to make someone else prosper from our work is no different from what we just left behind.]]

The debate had turned in circles: it always came back to material returns, which Ruuli suspected Scogar might accept with grace, but still insist that they owed him nothing. It was hard to accept that someone might view their clan's prosperity as reward enough; that wasn't how most people in their experience would react.

But there was still the matter of the clan itself. They were allowed to keep their names, but by moving to this new green world, they would be known under the name of Bastra. None of them were _expected_ to take up the warriors' creed, but Ruuli knew it was a creed Bastra had adopted for their sakes.

"We should consider it," she suggested, and the room went dead silent for a long minute.

[[It's not our culture,]] Ot'yakka said, frowning.

"What _is_ our culture?" Ruuli asked quietly. "We can maintain both. We have all learned about their creed. What in those six things changes any of our own selves?"

"They won't make us stop?" someone - it sounded like L'mak, though Ruili couldn't see her - asked.

"No. We can be our own clans within Clan Bastra. We can learn a new language and defend our land, and our neighbours as well. We can maintain our ways and still wear armour." Ruuli looked out over their gathering - missing only five because they had to remain with the doctors a bit longer. "Scogar is taking on this new culture for our sakes; material goods might be appreciated but he doesn't need them. But we can be Mandalorian, and if he needs our help, we can stand with him, because he didn't even know us but he stood with us anyway." She had learned - quietly - of all the younger man had risked on their behalf. He was not asking for them to adopt the new culture, but doing so wouldn't force them to betray everything they had risked their lives to retain.

She stood up. "This is my _choice,_ as a free person. I am Ruuli Skywalker of Clan Bastra, and I will be Mandalorian."

One by one, others stood and made their declarations. It wasn't all of them, but that was fine; they were still of Clan Bastra and would be treated as no lesser for it.

Qiiun looked up at her and then stood. [[This is my choice as a free person. I am Qiiun Starwind of Clan Bastra, and I will be Mandalorian.]] His proboscis wrinkled in an expression of amusement. [[I suppose we should tell Scogar that his Clan stands with him?]]

Ruuli smiled back. Making an unprompted choice not to serve, but to support, felt _right._


	7. Chapter 7: Equilibrium

**CHAPTER 07 : Equilibrium**

_Reformation Year 981.04.03  
Kamino_

"Over half of them?" Jango regarded Scogar's holo with surprise. "That's fantastic. Congratulations." The former slaves who comprised Clan Bastra choosing of their own accord to adopt the _Resol'narë_ made him feel pride in his partner. The younger man's leadership was already being recognised by his own people; it would put him in good standing with other _Mando'adë._

_"I think it's their way of thanking me,"_ Scogar said. He grinned, bashful but not shy. Scogar never downplayed his achievements; it was something Jango appreciated about him.

Jango settled more comfortably into the _Slave I'_s pilot's chair. It was the only place in Tipoca City he had access to which had a comm connection offworld. It was also entirely secure; the last thing Jango needed was Tyranus finding out Scogar existed, for a number of reasons.

The bastard being a Sith Lord least of all.

"When you bring them in, talk to Midha. They'll have to earn their _beskar,_ of course, but she can set them up with affordable armour." He quirked an eyebrow. "You should ask her for yourself, too." The thought of Scogar in Mandalorian-pattern armour, regardless of its material, was an attractive one. "And Zohli."

His partner blinked, expressive brows arching in surprise. _"Oh. I hadn't thought…. Well, we already have armour-"_

"You're a Mandalorian _aliit'alor_ now, _cyarë._ It's your right," Jango said firmly. His partner still struggled with feelings of imposing upon others unnecessarily. He was such a bemusing bundle of contradictions; Jango looked forward to the day when Scogar would claim what he was owed without demurring.

Scogar ducked his head with that little smile that made Jango want to pull him close. _"This is all still new to me, cyar'ika. I'm not… _accustomed _to having a place. Be patient with me?"_

Jango wasn't accustomed to having a place either, if he was going to be brutally honest with himself. Even though the _Mando'adë_ seemed willing and eager to have him back, he felt like an outsider. He really needed to spend more time in Keldabe. "You know I am. Do you have much left to do before you start bringing people in?"

A somewhat concerned expression crossed Scogar's face. _"You remember my friend Ulic?"_

It was difficult to _forget_ the fact that his partner had been acquainted with the spirit of an ancient Sith Lord who had once brought Mandalore under his banner. Jango nodded.

_"He had some business to take care of. I was going to wait for him to return, but… I don't know if he ever will."_ Scogar seemed upset at the idea, in a way Jango couldn't quite understand - he was still trying to reconcile with the whole _Sith ghost_ thing.

Jango tried to remember how Scogar's Force stuff worked. "Would he be able to find you when he finishes? Or contact you somehow?"

_"Maybe. It really depends on how things go."_ Scogar sighed and then seemed to shake the concern away. _"Any idea when you'll be free?"_

Tyranus would be arriving for his inspection the next day; Jango was surprised it hadn't been sooner, but the bastard never did bother explaining why he wasted people's time. "I'll know in a couple days," Jango hedged. "The client is… mercurial."

Scogar made a sound of annoyance in commiseration. _"Well, I wish you the best of luck dealing with that."_

They talked for another hour before Jango signed off in the interest of getting an early night. Not for the first time, he regretted the terms of the contract that prevented them from bringing in partners. Secrecy was key, and while he trusted Scogar, the younger man was definitely 'non-essential'.

Also, the others would flay him alive. The only members of the Cuy'val Dar who weren't separated from their partner were the matched pair of Dred Priest and his girlfriend Isabet Reau, who were also a working team. Considering the screaming and arguing their relationship involved - although never in front of the cadets; they were still _professionals_ \- nobody begrudged them for it.

Jango stopped and shook his head to clear it. Scogar had reminded him that these feelings - the desire to merely have him around and spend time together, among other things - were purely hormonal, but he didn't trust it, didn't like that his brain was making him want something. _How is that different from wanting anything else, though?_ he wondered, but the difference was that it involved another person, on an incredibly intimate level, and people could hurt you if you let your guard down.

He trusted Scogar. More than he'd trusted anyone, which was… not an entirely comfortable state, for all that he felt at ease with the other man. And Scogar's daughter was easy to adore: mischievous and passionate and caring and fierce. She'd make an amazing warrior someday, a credit to Clan Bastra. He wanted them both in his life, in his son's life. But he was still wary of getting too comfortable with them.

Jango paused under the downdraft at the entrance, letting it whisk the worst of the rain from his armour. This thing with Scogar would need to be dealt with one day at a time. Tomorrow was not that day; he'd have to spend all his energy on _not_ simply burying a vibroblade hilt-deep in Tyranus' eye.

* * *

_Reformation Year 981.04.04  
Kamino_

Rain. Every time they visited a new planet, it was always raining. At least Kamino had the excuse of always being that way. Xanatos scowled out at the clouds as they descended, unbroken sheets of water slapping the side of Lord Tyranus' shuttle in the wind. The pilot barely twitched as he compensated for the disturbance; Tyranus himself didn't give any indication of noticing.

As obnoxious as his new Master was - it was grating to even _consider_ the idea that he had a Master - Tyranus was a good example of poise and self-assuredness. Xanatos' secret lessons with Lord Victis had slowly been drawing his memories out of the jumbled chaos they had fallen into, and he _knew himself_ better than he had before, but it was at an impersonal sort of distance, like looking at someone else's life. Regaining his own poise was a chore; having Tyranous to emulate helped. And maybe it rankled, being merely a prop for Tyranus' display, but it did save Xanatos from being overwhelmed with panic at trying to portray someone who might never again exist.

The shuttle set down with a minimum of fuss, and he gave the long, open connector from the platform to the building beyond a dire look. The Kaminoans clearly did not care if other species suffered for their association. In the time it took to cross the distance, both Xanatos and Lord Tyranus were soaked through.

One of the Kaminoans, a tall, spindly creature, met them at the door, seemingly unbothered by their bedraggled appearance. Tyranus was nothing but neutrally pleasant in response, but there was a set to his shoulders which indicated displeasure.

"I beg your pardon, Taun We, but where is the progenitor? I was assured he would be here for this inspection."

Ah: he'd been expecting someone else. Xanatos filed that away for later.

The Kaminoan either didn't get the hint or didn't care as she turned away. "Jango Fett is awaiting you at the training facility. I understand that he is altering some of the parameters of the chosen trainers."

It was a long walk through offensively white hallways; Xan began to wish he'd brought goggles for this trip. The final door opened on a scene of chaos, and Taun We uttered the most disaffected, "Oh my," Xan had ever heard.

It was a large training hall - the floor was padded and the walls lined with racks of various melee weapons - and several dozen adults in armour were arrayed around the sides, holding back a cluster of eerily identical human boys who couldn't have been more than ten years old. In the centre of the floor, two armoured men were beating the absolute shit out of each other; the air was heavy with overtones of disgust and fury under the cheering of the onlookers.

Tyranus stepped through and Xan followed, the door closing behind them; the Sith Lord folded his arms, radiating disapproval but seemingly content to wait for the outcome of the fight.

The two men fighting had dark hair in similarly short cuts, and that was the limit of their resemblance. The taller of the two had a rangy build and fair skin, wore black armour and an expression of offended outrage. His challenger was short and solidly built, in blue and silver armour, and seemed almost uncaring as they grappled. Blades flashed, grating sparks off the metal plates, and then both went flying.

Taun We stepped forward and Tyranus raised his hand. "Let them. This is a personal matter," he said smoothly in a voice pitched to not carry.

The fighter in blue heard it anyway; he glanced in their direction and the other warrior took advantage of the moment to kick the other's leg from under him. The shorter man locked their arms together as he went down and dragged the taller man to the floor with him.

The room was torn in its support: most of the adults clearly favoured the warrior in blue, a few cheered for the one in black. The children couldn't seem to decide whom they wanted to win.

The fight ended suddenly when the shorter warrior got his legs in a lock around the taller man's neck; the black-clad warrior passed out quickly and his opponent shoved him to the side and rolled to his feet. "Anyone else feel like having a go over this?"

The adults who'd favoured the loser glowered but said nothing. The winner pointed to one of his supporters, a tall, older woman with her hair in thick braids. "Sikkaah, take charge of Delta until we have a better solution. Someone take Vau to medical. Everyone else, _ke'dayn."_

He accepted a towel and a bottle of water from someone and scrubbed the sweat from his hair as he walked over to face Lord Tyranus; the man was tired and angry but didn't show it as he nodded to them. "My apologies. I intended to meet you when you arrived," he said, not bothering to conceal his insincerity, "but my subordinate objected to some changes in the regimen."

Understatement. Xanatos squinted at him. The 'subordinate' had disliked being a subordinate at all.

The Sith Lord merely raised a disapproving eyebrow at him. As far as inspections went, they were off to a bad start if the man was trying to impress them. The man - Fett, presumably - just arched his own eyebrow in response and turned his attention to Xanatos.

"You didn't say anything about bringing an associate."

"My aide," Tyranus said smoothly as they followed Fett from the training hall. He didn't bother introducing Xanatos, which was simultaneously insulting and a relief. Xan followed them, paying close attention to their surroundings as the other two talked.

There seemed to be no end to the searing whiteness of the facility, and no symbols anywhere to suggest where they were; Xan was starting to suspect the Kaminoans didn't see in the same colour range. It was a massive relief to be led into a meeting room stocked with humanoid-standard furniture where the walls had been painted a more comfortable shade of grey. Neither Fett nor Tyranus commented on it; judging by the way the thin carpet rippled at the wall, the resident non-Kaminoans must have taken matters into their own hands.

Fett turned the holoprojector on and brought up a series of graphs and diagrams. "The cloners say the most recent generations are the closest to perfection-" he uttered the word as if it tasted vile- "and we can expect reduced... wastage in the future."

"Wastage?" Xan asked before he could stop himself. Tyranus glared at him.

"Genetic defects requiring termination," Fett said flatly. "Their process was initially more selective, however the trainers and I reminded them that even an imperfect clone can be useful in other roles. They'll need support personnel, after all. As a bonus, this reduces the cost to our client." He motioned carelessly in Tyranus' direction and changed the display to a projection graph.

It was impossible to read the man's feelings and intentions. At first he seemed to be a complete null, but as Xan studied the man, he noticed the tight shielding guarding his mind. It was much more… organic, than a Jedi or Sith might create, as if it had been built up over a long period of time as a secondary process to some form of training.

It was fascinating, and it was all Xan could do to remind himself not to poke at it.

"... can provide you with the full revised training regimen, if you wish-"

"What parts have been revised?" Tyranus interrupted, drawing Xan's attention back to the meeting.

Fett shrugged. "The preliminary batches have been kept and trained separate from the others; under advisement by some of the trainers, we'll be folding them in with the younger batches, as well as shifting some command-track units to non-command batches. Fostering superiority between generations leads to the sort of conflict which is counterproductive."

"I see. Continue."

Listening to people discuss things that they had no interest in explaining to him made Xan impatient; to avoid irritating Tyranus, he settled into a light trance instead, with his eyes half-lidded. It was easy to pick out the Kaminoans from everyone else: there was an insularity and an alignment of purpose that the others didn't have. Clusters of life, sparkling like nebulae, spread through the facility; in the water beneath, massive presences glided past, utterly alien and unknowable.

"Your 'aide' seems to have fallen asleep."

Xanatos pulled back and opened his eyes to see Fett studying him. "It sounded like you were getting along just fine without me," Xan said, a bit more caustically than intended, and received a sharp yank on his bond with Tyranus in warning.

Fett managed to smirk without his expression changing. "Care to join us for a tour, or do you need your beauty rest more?"

"Some of us don't need more than a catnap."

Tyranus yanked harder on their bond, making him wince; Fett's eyes ticked from Xan to Tyranus and back. "Well, come on. We'll take a walk and then you can get back to it."

He led them up a level to a series of observation lounges overlooking vast halls of more identical preteen children. Some were combat training scenarios, while others appeared to be educational facilities - although they bore little resemblance to any education in Xan's fragmented memories. Xanatos stood at Tyranus' shoulder to look out over a dining hall, and felt… concerned, that was it. All the children dressed identically in blue, doing the same things at the same time; it was eerie. Like watching droids.

But the synchronicity didn't match what was visible in the Force, indicating that the activity was timer-prompted rather than intentional. The children rippled with individuality, some impatient or frustrated, others bored or excited. There was a burst of nervous rebellion in the corner - someone was scratching a design onto the tabletop while others watched in awe.

He was careful not to look in their direction.

Tyranus and Fett discussed the children - clones, and given their general appearance with only occasional variations in hair colour, they were almost certainly clones of Fett - and their training in dispassionate terms. They were all products, despite their individuality, and Xanatos tried to shake the sensation of _wrongness_ away. They shouldn't mean anything to him… but it was difficult to forget the way they shimmered in the Force.

He waited until they were back in the shuttle and hanging their sodden cloaks up to dry before asking, "What do we need an army for? I thought we had deals with the Trade Federation for droids?"

If anything, Tyranus looked amused. "Indeed. But this army is not for our usage. My Master intends to lure the Republic into a confrontation, with their doom disguised as a gift from a well-meaning ally."

Xanatos frowned. "Who would they think it's from? You left the Jedi, and Fett is definitely a Mandalorian."

He might have only imagined it, but Tyranus' expression seemed to tighten for a moment. "A Jedi Master, a former member of the High Council in fact, approached me seeking assistance. He was regrettably lost whilst on a mission shortly after the project began, but the financial aid he acquired continues in his absence."

It was impossible to tell which parts, if any, were intended as irony. Xan filed the matter away for future investigation. "So the originator is one of their own, and thus above suspicion. Are you certain this Jedi didn't tell anyone before conveniently disappearing?"

Tyranus turned away, declaring the conversation over. "I made certain he didn't."

* * *

Kal Skirata was _pissed,_ and only half of it was because he'd missed seeing Jango grind Walon's face into the floor. Word had spread fast, though: Jango had walked in on Walon in the middle of his banthashit with the kids, dropped a hard ultimatum, and Walon had taken a swing. Kal didn't give a shit about Walon's wounded ego - it didn't matter that the kids in question were the cadets Walon himself had taken under his wing, his training methods were still a horrific ordeal to inflict on a child in Kal's opinion. But it was the ultimatum, the fact that Jango was reclaiming what he'd willingly thrown away five years earlier.

He didn't bother knocking before walking into Jango's office. The other man was scowling at a datapad and only acknowledged Kal's presence with a raised eyebrow.

"Not a good time. What do you want?"

"Client left yet?"

"Few minutes ago."

"So you have time to explain what the fuck you were thinking."

Jango finally set the datapad down and looked at him. "About what?"

Stubborn ass was going to make him say it. "Taking the kids away from us. You didn't give a shit before. If it's just about Walon's crap-"

"It's not."

Oh, he knew that look, the hard one that said Jango wasn't gonna back down. The least the man owed him was an explanation. "You didn't give two shits about the prototype batches before. What's going on?"

Jango sat back in his chair and stared long and hard at Kal; Kal was too damned old to be nerfed by that _ruus'alor_ crap and folded his arms, glaring back. At last the other man sighed and looked away, shoulders easing slightly. "When's the last time you visited Keldabe? Not the rare trip back and gone, when did you last _spend time_ there?"

Obviously Kal hadn't been back since taking this weird damned training contract. He still had a place there, looked after by Sikkaah's _riduur_ Midha, but the last time he'd done more than drop by was…. "After Illipi took the kids and ran off back to Corellia. Why?" It wasn't a good memory, and he hated Jango for reminding him that Tor, Ijaat, and Ruusaan were being denied their due heritage.

Shit, they'd all be adults now. Ruu was going to be twenty-six soon.

Jango was clearly weighing how much to say about it. This was gonna take a while; Kal dropped loosely into the visitor chair.

"You know my- the person I've started seeing has a _verd'ika."_

Pinching off a smirk at the way Jango had almost admitted he had a partner, Kal raised his eyebrows. "Didn't, actually. If Midha told Sikkaah, she hasn't shared that."

"They're _cin vhetin._ The entire clan of 'em."

Alright, that was unexpected. Nobody had mentioned that Jango's _vutyc burc'ya_ hadn't been Mando'ad to start with; not that there was any reason to comment on it. Once the Manda claimed a person, their past didn't matter. And the man had brought _aliit_ with him; that said good things. "I'm guessing you're going somewhere with this."

Nodding, Jango said, "Sometimes I think we lost out, not growing up in Keldabe. Sco'ika's _ad_ and Boba were immediately folded in with a larger group of the _adë_ Neve keeps an eye on. Got me thinking about how we're training the clones. You know how much Boba picked up from the older kids in only three days? He's been giggling over jokes and references I don't half understand for a solid week. Your kids, Vau's, the others… they could be passing on things to the younger batches, the same way Boba learned dirty words from Fenn-" Jango grinned fondly at a memory- "all that child culture stuff we forget as adults. But we've been segregating them too much. It's creating a barrier between the generations. The kind of barrier that lets the prototype batches think there's nothing wrong with interfering with their _vod'ikë_ in the training sims," he added with a pointed glare.

Kal gritted his teeth, remembering the verbal flaying Kom'rk had got for messing with the training popper. The kid had _earned_ that dressing-down. "It's a massive disruption in their training schedule-"

"You mean you don't like the idea of having to give them back," Jango interrupted, smirking at whatever Kal's expression was doing. "I'm not taking your babies from you, Kal. Taking Walon's from him, yes, but not yours. I want to get them all working and socialising with the younger batches-"

Kal frowned. "I thought the plan was already to have 'em train the younger ones?" They'd drawn the schedule up years earlier, after several days of heated discussion.

"Not for another three years. I'm just starting it earlier, and encouraging them to take their down time together." Something infernal lit his eyes as he grinned. "Prepare to get pranked. A lot. It's good training for them."

"You're sure you want to encourage that, Fett?" A prank war could easily disrupt every careful bit of training they'd planned. And most of the facility.

Shrugging, Jango pulled an empty transparent tube out of his pocket and rolled it across the desk. "Too late to back out now."

Kal cursed when he saw the tiny metallic flecks stuck to the inside of the container.

* * *

Jango hadn't just glitter-salted the training helmets, he'd infected the instructors' _buyc'ë_ as well. The last thing he had wanted was a power stratification with the sergeants against the cadets, so everyone got the same treatment. He'd even dosed himself.

Watching Walon's pet strill, Lord Mirdalan, rolling about joyfully in the iridescent flecks scattered across the lounge floor, Jango grinned. Maybe it was a _little_ petty. But the best way to encourage a break from the established order of things was to get everyone on the same, sparkling level.

He couldn't wait to see what they'd cook up in retribution.

* * *

_Reformation Year 981.04.06  
Coruscant_

Mace regarded the envoys from the Corellian and Chalactan Temples over the tips of his steepled fingers, refusing to give in to the urge to rub the bridge of his nose. The shatterpoint centred around them as they entered the Council chamber and bowed was impressively large, and he wasn't entirely sure what it meant.

A brush in the Force, like a cool, soothing cloth over his forehead, made him glance to where his padawan stood to the left of his seat. Ferus had adapted quickly to working with him, and the teen's generous efforts to ease Mace's tension when the Force flared were greatly appreciated.

The Corellian envoy, a female Anx named Ja Daeon, took a half-step forward. "Esteemed Masters," she said in a soft, fluting voice, "we come to you today united after an extensive investigation. The Green Council was informed some time ago that practises in the Coruscant Temple have become increasingly strict and conservative in the extreme, but we did not wish to levy accusations without proper adherence to research and fact."

The High Council rippled with everything from Oppo's indignant denial to Plo's gentle intrigue. Mace straightened a bit and lowered his hands to his lap, silently quelling the other Councilors' reactions. "May we ask as to the source of the initial report?"

Master Ja bobbed her head, the silvery age-marks on her long crest catching the mid-morning sunlight. "One of our Masters on assignment encountered a young pilot who had been an Initiate at this Temple some years ago. The pilot had aged out and been assigned an ill-suited role on Bandomeer, rather than being offered a place at one of the other Temples, or assessed for one of the other Corps. Which is what any institution which cares for its younglings ought to have done," she added with a quelling glare at Saesee when he grumbled. "Esteemed Masters, when did we become so callous?"

The numbers of Initiates sent to the AgriCorps every year had been steadily increasing; it was impossible to guess which former Initiate had spoken with the Corellian Jedi. "The AgriCorps has reported an increased need for staff over the years," Mace explained quietly. "The Council has prioritised their needs, as they supply all the Temples."

"Why would the AgriCorps need more staff when our numbers decrease by the month?" the Chalactan envoy, Master Zina Amil, asked. "Knights were sent to investigate, and found that the AgriCorps suffers from a high level of resignations compared to the other Corps. Sometimes staff simply disappear without a word of farewell, and it's assumed they're either stowing away on supply transports or paying for passage. This suggests that more selectivity is required in the process of assigning AgriCorps staff. Not less." He straightened and ran a hand over his long plaited hair. "Be that as it may, this Council neglecting to remember that other Temples will happily take in older students is a troubling issue. An Initiate not being chosen by a Master is not reason enough to expel them from the only home they have known, and we fear this will lead to great trouble in the future. The Chalactan, Corellian, Devaronian, and Alaris Temples have appointed us to petition for a restructuring of Order practices."

He held out a datapad; ignoring the telepathic grumbling around the room, Mace accepted it. At a glance, it had a much more detailed list of matters that required attention; it would take hours to review, and a single Council session wouldn't be enough.

One item toward the bottom of the list caught his eye. "Structural investigation of the Coruscant Temple's lower levels?"

Master Ja nodded. "Two of our Masters visited in the past year and your Master Nu brought them to see the oldest parts of the Temple. One Master had a fit as he was meditating there, because he was overcome by a well of Darkness nearby."

That… rang a very loud bell. Mace held a hand up to quell the murmurs of consternation from the Council and reached out to Ferus for his personal datapad.

And there it was, from almost a year earlier: Jocasta's report from showing some interested friends the lower levels.

He'd even left a note to investigate the site, himself. And for some reason he had never followed up on it.

Mace was careful not to let himself frown in front of the envoys, although he dearly wanted to. The Council took pains to present a unified front in its decisions, even when individual members vehemently disagreed. "A report was filed at that time. It was never followed up, to my knowledge." He could save kicking himself for forgetting until after the session was over.

"It's concerning that you felt the need to investigate the Coruscant Temple without obtaining consent initially," Adi said, frowning.

Master Ja tilted her head serenely. "Surprise inspections are common practice in many levels of society, when one wishes to see the natural state of operations."

Adi's discomfort was shared by many of the Councilors, but some - including Mace - agreed reluctantly with Master Ja's reasoning. An obstructive actor, however well-intentioned, could prevent an accurate assessment from being made.

"The Will of the Force this Council follows," Yoda declared, tapping the end of his gimer stick on the tiles, and Mace tucked his irritation away. He loved Master Yoda, but the man was deeply resistant to the idea of changing any of the Order's traditions. His opinion of the Green Order's approach to loyalty and family had soured relations between the Temples several centuries earlier.

"With respect, Master Yoda, one cannot truly know the Force's Will; we can only attempt to interpret what we sense. Interpretations can be in error," Master Zina countered smoothly.

Someone sucked in a breath in shock; the Chalactan Master had just veered dangerously close to calling Master Yoda out. Before Yoda - whose face had screwed up like he'd tasted something foul - could respond, Mace raised his voice.

"Master Zina is correct: it's possible many things have been incorrectly interpreted over the years." Including several questionable prophecies. "This is too large a matter to discuss in a single Council session. A committee must be appointed to investigate the findings of the other Temples. Will the Corellian, Chalactan, Devaronian, and Alaris Temples assemble a committee for ours to consult with?" Mace carefully did not ask if they already had such a committee formed; he assumed they did, for the purposes of secretly investigating Coruscant, but some admissions were best left off the record. Both envoys nodded decisively without hesitation.

"Whom shall we appoint to such a committee, if we are to investigate ourselves without bias?" Ki-Adi asked.

Plo leaned forward, enthusiasm bubbling over. It was surprising: Plo was normally quite centrist in his approach to tradition. "We start with our Scholars. Choose twelve at random. Then the Consulars, another twelve, and so on. From each focus group, we draw names without respect for age, skill, or politics. Each group of twelve will nominate two to be their representatives to the other groups and to this Council."

The total committee would be _immense_ \- there were over thirty different fields a Jedi could choose to specialise among, including the Crèchemasters,Temple staff, and Service Corps. But twelve was a small representative number compared to the total of the Order.

The rest of the Council seemed largely in agreement over the proposal, although some had concerns. A truly random selection risked weighting itself in unrepresentative ways, after all.

Mace nodded. "The numbers are agreeable; however, the selection process needs some refinement."

"Ask for volunteers," Depa said. "As many as wish to; this ensures we do not choose those who are unable or unwilling to donate their time. Each volunteer should answer a series of questions regarding why they wish to participate in the committee. For each focus, this Council will select six, and the other Temples will select the other six."

It would create a lot of work for the Councilors and their assistants - _so_ much work - but the result would balance the odds of bias. Oppo and Yoda both registered their extreme distaste for the idea of even starting such an inquiry, but they recognised that dismissing the other Temples' concerns out of hand would do nothing to improve matters. Better to investigate and find nothing wrong, than to do nothing and leave weaknesses unchecked.

Mace looked at the Chalactan and Corellian envoys. "Is this agreeable to you, Masters?"

"It is," Master Zina replied; beside him, Master Ja nodded.

"Very well." It was almost a relief to wrap the matter up so neatly with minimal dissent, but they had really only set the bulk of the work aside for later or redelegated it to people who had yet to be chosen. Mace gestured towards the Council Chamber doors. "We have a bit more business to address, but if you wouldn't mind waiting, I can escort you to the guest chambers afterwards. Otherwise, you may speak to Knight Reeft on duty in the antechamber and he'll summon the Quartermaster for you."

"We would be delighted to wait for you to conclude your business," Master Ja said. _Translation: they want to talk to him privately._ If Mace had any issue with that, he wouldn't have offered. The visiting Masters bowed once more before departing.

Master Yoda's disgruntled glare was boring a divot into Mace's temple; he carefully didn't return the look and called for the next order of business.

* * *

The dinners and evenings spent with Anakin and Qui-Gon were often the highlight of Shmi's weeks. It was a time to catch up on what Anakin had been studying, the news around the Twosuns district, and all the Jedi Temple gossip Qui-Gon had collected. She loved those evenings, where they felt almost like a family.

There were times, of course, where her son and his teacher would be away on an extended mission, and she missed them terribly. Anakin would send messages when he could, letting her know they were alright; twice it had been Qui-Gon sending the message, because Anakin had got himself hurt and been taken to an infirmary, but they always returned home intact.

She'd been looking forward to this dinner for over a month. The both of them had only just returned to the Temple from an extended mission a few days prior; as usual, she couldn't know where they'd been, and it had apparently been an exhausting few weeks for them.

Shmi had discreetly messaged Qui-Gon whilst Anakin was in class, explaining that she had a family matter to discuss with her son. Qui-Gon had graciously arranged to be delayed so that Anakin arrived first with a container of something that looked like spiced fried flatcakes. It was such a challenge to offer him water first before hugging him tightly. At fifteen years old, her son was now taller than she was, and when Shmi wrapped her arms around him, she could feel firm, trained muscle under his youthful softness.

He took a step back, smiling at her, and hesitated. "What is it, Mom?"

Shmi bit her lip, but the grin slipped out, spreading across her face. She rested her hands on his shoulders to catch his eye. "Anakin… some of our family survived. My sister commed, just after you and Qui-Gon left on your mission. They were freed from slavery by a mercenary." She'd promised to keep Obi-Wan's name out of things; names were important, and if he chose to hide his, she would honour that.

Anakin stared at her, his cup forgotten in his hand. "Your… you have a sister?"

Shmi took his hand and guided him over to the sofa, setting the container of dessert on the caff table. "We were separated long before I was sold to Gardulla. Her name's Ruuli, and she's not alone. The mercenary who freed them is helping them build a new home where they can choose their own paths."

Her son sat down heavily and drank the last of his water. "So… what does this mean? Are you going to go stay with them instead?"

She laughed softly and settled beside him, curling her arm around his shoulders and pulling him against her side like she had when he was little. He'd grown up so fast. "No, my life is here. I did offer to help them settle on Coruscant, but most of them didn't like the idea of the city, and even the ones who did chose to stay with their family. Ruuli is your aunt, Anakin, and now you have cousins, uncles, aunts… and someday you'll get to meet them."

His blue eyes searched hers intently. "You never mentioned them before."

Shmi sighed and combed her fingers through his short hair. "It hurt too much to think of them, when I believed they were lost forever. And so many still are - our parents, grandparents, your uncle. If they're not dead, they're still in bondage."

Anakin frowned. "Can't this mercenary find them? How did your sister even know to comm you?"

She had an easy answer for that, because it was the truth. "The mercenary has been involved in anti-slavery work in the past; he'd heard about what we did with Gondel's business and recognised Ruuli's family name. He just happened to be in a position to liberate them, Ani. Slave-dealers don't care about names - they give each slave a number, and unless you know that number, you'll never find a particular slave after they've been sold." She suppressed her quiet anger at the practice, which was done specifically to prevent people from locating stolen family and friends.

Anakin's expression darkened. "I wish we could do something about that." He didn't just mean finding the rest of their family - he meant ending the slave trade altogether. Shmi wholeheartedly agreed.

"Someday we will, love." She hugged him again, only releasing when the door chime announced Qui-Gon's arrival. "Go put the dessert away, please?"

Qui-Gon accepted his water with a smile, meeting her eyes as he sipped. "It's good to see you again, Lady Shmi."

She tsked and tugged him down to kiss his cheek. The gentle teasing was mere habit by now, and she had to admit it was a _little_ nice to be given the same amount of respect as the diplomats Qui-Gon usually dealt with.

Even though he was technically arriving with Anakin, Qui-Gon had still brought a salad of some sort. He and Anakin joined her in the kitchen while she tested the stew that had been simmering in the cooker all day, sharing jokes and small-talk. The big news - family business aside - always waited until they were together.

Kitster was the last to come home, Threepio toddling along behind him. The boys had scraped together enough cast-off plating to cover the poor droid's exposed innards, and painted him a jaunty blue and yellow reminiscent of Anakin's old racing pod. He stood out when assisting Kitster with translations and other protocol work at his new job in one of the upper-level hotels, and their manager paid well for the service. Try as they might, they could never get the droid to stop giving even family members honorifics, although they had talked him down from 'Master' and 'Mistress' - terms which in context made everyone very uncomfortable - to 'Sir' and 'Lady'.

Threepio broke off from his grumbling about the speeder pilot-droid's rudeness and brightened considerably when he saw who was waiting. "Welcome back, Sir Jinn! And Sir Anakin! It is gratifying to see you well!"

"Thanks, Threepio! It's good to see you too," Anakin said as he hugged Kitster.

While Shmi set Qui-Gon to setting the table, Anakin got Threepio's assessment of his maintenance needs before sending the droid off to recharge - including a very fussy and exhaustive list of perceived cosmetic damage that of course had nothing to do with Threepio stumbling into wall corners. Shmi caught Anakin's eye and tapped her temple: the droid's gyroscopic equilibrium monitor needed adjustment, possibly a replacement considering the original part had been salvaged from a scrap pile.

If she ignored the fact that two of her family members were Jedi, Shmi could almost fool herself into believing that every night was like this.

She waited until everyone was seated with full plates before announcing what she'd told Anakin earlier; even Kitster hadn't been told, because Shmi knew Anakin deserved to hear about their family first.

Kitster was ecstatic, but Qui-Gon was quiet.

"Do you know where they'll be settling?" he asked once Anakin and Kitster had quieted down.

This was the part of the news that would be hardest on Anakin. "Mandalore," Shmi admitted quietly. "The mercenary who freed them had limited resources but some good connections."

Anakin frowned. "You mean, in Sundari?"

Qui-Gon was already shaking his head. "Sundari has no room for a group of refugees that size. You mean the northern continent, don't you?" he asked Shmi, and she nodded.

"The mercenary has purchased land large enough to start a colony, and once they're set up and familiar with the local laws, they can do anything they want with themselves."

If anything, Anakin's frown deepened. "Northern Mandalorians don't like Jedi."

"With good reason," Qui-Gon said gently. "But the Order is hoping to make changes which might mend the old divides. Perhaps in time we would be able to visit."

Shmi's eyebrows rose, but it was Kitster who asked, "What kinda changes?"

Qui-Gon offered what was clearly a very bare-bones summary of the Order's formation of a committee to investigate what needed to be improved. Anakin seemed indifferent to it, but Shmi caught one detail that made her lean forward.

"Any Jedi can apply to be on this committee?"

He caught her meaning immediately and smiled. "There are no age or expertise restrictions."

Shmi looked at her son. "You should apply for this, Ani."

"What?! No!" He made a face. "Sitting in boring meetings while other people talk isn't my idea of getting things done."

"Sometimes, in order to decide what must be done, people need to sit down and talk," she chided him. Her sweet boy was always so restless, looking for action instead of progress. "This is important, Ani. You have a unique perspective: you came to the Temple _very_ late, from what I understand, and can talk about both outsiders' thoughts on the Order and also on what it's like to not have grown up in the Temple culture. They need to hear that."

Her son gave Qui-Gon a desperate look, but the Jedi Master tilted his head. "Your mother has a very good point, Anakin. Remember how disappointed you were that we couldn't just free the slaves on Tatooine?"

"Yeah?"

"Many Jedi feel that the Order's ties to the Senate prevent us from being more… _proactive_ in the galaxy. If this committee can have any effect on the restrictions that prevent us from helping others-"

"But who would listen to _me?_ Nobody cares-"

Shmi frowned and tapped her hand on the tabletop. "The purpose of this committee is to listen to its members, and to the rest of the Jedi." She glanced at Qui-Gon for confirmation, and he nodded.

"If you do not offer your voice, Anakin, it will never be heard." He twitched a grin. "Jedi, alas, are not actually mind-readers."

Kitster sputtered a laugh into his juice, and Anakin's eyes went huge before he grinned and shook his head. "Well. Okay. It's just an application, it's not like they would actually accept me onto a _committee_ for something this important."

Shmi sat back and shared a knowing, satisfied look with Qui-Gon. She had a good feeling about this.

* * *

_Sundari, Mandalore_

Ethyne Matsuuri secretly hated working at her desk; it felt like a cage, a big old box wrapping around her. Her preferred spot - when she could afford to kick her boots off - was curled at the end of the couch in her personal suite with a steaming pot of shig at her elbow. She just always seemed to get more work done when she was comfortable.

She was almost finished writing the daily report when someone gave a playfully rhythmic knock on her door. It was her niece, of course - only Tovari was that irreverent. It was refreshing. "It's open."

There was something in the way Tovari posed in the doorway for a moment before sauntering forward to lean on the back of the armchair that was reminiscent of a particularly satisfied tooka. The look in her eyes was absolutely devious as she waved a datapad in Ethyne's direction. "I found out who Fett's mysterious mercenary friend was."

That was enough for Ethyne to set her report aside. "Oh, this is going to be good." She accepted the datapad and eyed the display. "Property assumption contract?"

"One of the things the Interstellar Trade Commission manages is the records of every property transfer in the Mandalorian sector. For the sake of trade and taxation records, of course. This one was witnessed by the Mand'alor himself," Tovari said, pointing at the line in question.

"Scogar Bastra?" The name jangled a bell in her memory, and Ethyne frowned. "Wait. That's-"

"The name Obi-Wan used when he was working with Booster Terrik," Tovari finished, nodding.

Ethyne thought back to that meeting almost a year earlier, when Kenobi had been caught on security holo in the Corporate Sector with his arm looped through a very disgruntled-looking Fett's. How long had the two men known each other? Kenobi's body language had been companionable in the image, even flirtatious; Fett's had not, but there could be many reasons for that. They still had no idea what the two had been up to together on a Corporate Sector station. "Do you really think Fett would bring a former Jedi to Keldabe? And approve of him _becoming Mandalorian?"_ she added, turning the datapad around to point to the line _Clan Head, Clan Bastra._

Tovari shrugged and sat down in the armchair. "Fett's behaviour has been uncharacteristic the last few years. He vanishes for long periods of time only to resurface for a couple of bounty contracts and the occasional Keldabe visit and then gone again. Have your people figured out what he's been doing in Keldabe?"

"Organising. He's definitely looking at taking on _Kyr'tsad,_ and possibly renewing Jaster's old supercommando codex. What that means for _us…."_ Ethyne sighed. "I don't know. I hope Fett's open to negotiation, if it comes to that."

"If he's got Obi-Wan on his side," Tovari pointed out, "I think we can afford to be a little optimistic. Anyway, I'm going to see about making an excuse to pay a visit in the next month or two. Give them time to get set up, anyway."

Ethyne handed the datapad back. "Him being the leader of a clan suggests he has a family now, Tovi."

She nodded easily. "The media said he had a _verd'ika,_ which means he probably adopted a kid at some point. Obi-Wan is the sort of person who _cares,_ Aunt Ethie. Nothing about this is very surprising to me." Tovari paused with her hand on the door control. "But there's no way in nine Corellian hells that I'm sharing _any_ of this with Satine."

* * *

_Kamino_

Sikkaah scowled at the information she'd been given regarding the health and training of Vau's erstwhile Delta Squad. Everything fell within the Kaminiisë's 'optimal' range, but their concept of 'optimal' was not hers. The number of injuries suggested Vau had been pushing them too hard, and she was willing to bet they were all suffering some level of mental stress.

She muttered a dire oath. Vau needed to talk to a mirshë'ur _yesterday,_ if not a decade ago after he'd been drawn into the Manda. But they'd been at war with the Kyr'tsad, and then the Republic had weighed in on the New Mandalorians' behalf, and nobody could pause to address something as relatively inconsequential as childhood trauma.

She'd had a _long_ chat with Vau the day before. He insisted that he was just trying to prepare the cadets to survive. To survive _what,_ he couldn't seem to articulate. But it was fairly obvious to Sikkaah that he was projecting _something_ from his bad relationship with his father.

A persistent twinkle at the edge of her vision finally drew enough of her attention to wipe at her cheek under her right eye. Jango's kriffing glitter was now _everywhere_ throughout the facility, despite efforts to contain and dispose of it. Mird had spread it into the trainers' quarters after rolling in the stuff; there was a large strill-shaped constellation right in the middle of Vau's bunk. And she couldn't tell if the cadets were sweeping it up to re-use it, or if Jango had been so evil as to plant new containers where the kids could find them. The reassurance that it was made from seaweed and thus both edible and biodegradable was a small comfort.

Glitter had only been the start of it, too. Dyes had been indiscriminately added to bottles of shampoo and now several dozen cadets and instructors had brightly coloured hair; the showers on deck Cresh were only spraying cold water, and the other cadet showers on deck Dorn had had some pink foaming soap added to the water supply. While the showers were still technically usable, the room was a nasty slipping hazard.

The capsaicin in the _Cuy'val Dar'_s limited hoard of shig powder had been a fun time. Sikkaah had her suspicions about who was behind that one, but knew better than to ask.

The lounge door opened and Skirata poked his head in. "There you are. Got a minute?"

"Sure."

Skirata's brown beskar'gam had a distinctly sparkly sheen under the lounge lighting. He took a seat across from her and sniffed cautiously at the pot of caff on the table. "Is it safe?"

The caff powder was from her own personal stash, but she couldn't vouch for the sanctity of the sweetener Skirata preferred. "So far."

He assembled a cup to his liking and swilled about half of it in one go before getting to the point. "Do you have a code with Midha? Could you, I dunno, slip a request into your next message that Jango wouldn't notice?"

"Of course we have a code." Sikkaah would never use it to betray the trust of their contract, but she was relatively certain Skirata wasn't going to ask her to.

"Great." He grinned like a vornskr and rubbed the palms of his hands together, leaning forward across the table. "I have an idea for some payback for Jango."

When she heard what he had in mind, Sikkaah laughed until her gut ached.

* * *

.

* * *

Mando'a:

Resol'narë - (lit: Six Actions) The tenets all Mando'adë follow as part of their culture.  
Aliit'alor - clan leader  
cyarë - beloved  
cyar'ika - darling  
ke'dayn - get out (_ke'_ indicates a direct command)  
osik - shit  
ruus'alor - the rank of Sergeant  
riduur - partner, spouse  
verd'ika - (lit: the rank of Private) In this context, indicative of a Mando'ad who is no longer considered a child but also not old enough to be considered for full adult duties  
cin vhetin - blank slate (lit: "white field"). Once a person adopts the Resol'nare, their past is regarded as belonging to someone else, the person they were before; what matters are their deeds going forward.  
vutyc burc'ya - "special friend" - Kal's being sarcastic over Jango's refusal to claim Scogar openly as his partner  
aliit - family  
strill - a six-legged hunting animal; imagine a cross between a basset hound and a komodo dragon. Spindlewit draws delightful strill, imo  
shig - Tea. The wiki suggests that it's typically GFFA!Earl Grey tea, but it can be any infused drink  
mirshë'ur - psych (lit: "brain doctor)


	8. Chapter 8: Vodyc

**Chapter 08: Vodyc**

_Rhen Var_

The weirdest part of piecing two separate aspects of himself together was not, in fact, reconciling a collective eight thousand years of simultaneous memories; nor was it attempting to reconcile the Light Side and Dark Side, a task nobody had truly succeeded at in a thousand generations. It wasn't even deciding which parts of his polarised personalities to dispose of. It was that it was just the opposite: Sith or Jedi, Ulic was the same person, and there was remarkably little conflict between the two sides of his soul.

The experience was nothing like what he'd anticipated. He'd anticipated arguments, dissent, conflict. An unwillingness to bend and cooperate. But his Sith aspect had had months to consider the matter, and his Jedi aspect was not so attached to the Light that he couldn't accept his own shadow. The moment he'd brought his focus to bear on the crystal, filling in its scars in the Force, Ulic had found himself - and only _himself,_ singular and whole - in that long hall lined with doors, each one a little museum gallery of his existence. None of the doors were locked anymore, and he could freely sift through the contents without pain.

He grimaced over his oldest memories - he'd been an arrogant little shit of a Jedi, which had been a crucial factor in his downfall, even more so than the Krath's damnable poison. The poison had needed something to work with, after all, and his own pride and impatience had given it all the fuel it needed. After the _separation_, that arrogance had flipped to become the depression and cynicism that had caused his surviving but broken Jedi half to push little Vima Sunrider away when she sought training, while his Sith aspect had claimed all the confidence. The very roots of the schism - his grief and despair over what he'd done to his brother, to his lover, to the Jedi and to the Republic - was likely the cause of that particular fracture.

It hurt, in a viscerally cerebral sort of way, but he forced himself to walk through it all, cringing at every ancient failure the same way Zohli and Obi-Wan cringed at secondhand embarrassment in bad holo comedies.

Then there were rooms dedicated to the important people in his life. His younger brother Cay; he let himself bask in the memories there for a long time, even the bad ones, for they contained a bittersweet love he had _missed_ terribly. Their mother, Jedi Master Lien-Tsai. Master Arca, and their fellow student Tott Doneeta. His beloved, Nomi Sunrider. Her daughter Vima, who had forged a room in his heart all for herself despite his reluctance to let her in; the closest thing he had ever had to a daughter. Even Exar Kun had a room. It wasn't a pleasant one, but given the man's impact on Ulic's life, he would have been more surprised if there hadn't been one.

Tyranus had a room. More of a closet, really. Obi-Wan's room was much larger and had alcoves for each of his family members. Ulic lingered there a while, taking stock of things he hadn't noticed previously and adjusting a few priorities. The young man had less need of his guidance now - hadn't needed much for some time, in fact - and Ulic realised with pleasure that most of their association had become a bond of friendship.

There was no way to tell how much time passed while he worked. He wasn't even certain what he'd be like when he finished, but clinging to a particular self-identity in the face of the necessity to _change_ was an attachment that could easily be fatal. Whether he became Sith or Jedi or something else was now irrelevant: Ulic had a purpose to fulfill, and that was the only priority.

When he returned to the world, it was night, starlight filtering softly through the glacier ice to light the temple with an ethereal glow. The crystal in his hands was a dull, foggy white, unusable for any practical purposes anymore. Probably for the best. Twitching a smile, he set it on the tomb - an empty stone sarcophagus, an effigy housing nothing but air - and pressed down, grounding it upright in the center of the stone cap where it would catch the light.

Freedom had its price: unbound Force spirits couldn't linger more than a few years, a decade or two at most if they had a reason. Fortunately, Ulic had several reasons, many of which he was long overdue for checking on.

He closed his eyes and focused on one of the faint bonds linking him to others. Giving that gossamer thread a gentle tug, he left Rhen Var behind.

* * *

_Reformation Year 981.04.10  
Mandalore_

There were few truths more evident than the fact that a hundred and forty-three extra people would not fit onboard the _Sunflare._ Obi-Wan had offered to pay Roz for the loan of one of her transports and a pilot, but she'd waved him off, just as she had when he'd tried to pay her back for housing his clan. He still felt like he owed her several favours.

Feid and Pulkka flew the _Sunflare_ ahead to their new property on Mandalore with Deesix, while Obi-Wan and Zohli traveled with the clan, spending as much time as possible with them before the work of starting a farm and homestead kept them occupied. Helping them initially had been so rushed and chaotic, with so many of the former slaves uncomfortable with his presence and clinging to each other, that Obi-Wan hadn't been able to really get to know them. In the month since, many of them had opened up, and he'd started to recognise the differences between the trade clans. The Darklighter and Skywalker clans were a mix of humans and twi'lek, Starwind were all Kubaz, while Bluestar were mostly Bothans, and Swiftnight was a single Devaronian family who had adopted other Devaronians from within Nirru's slave compound. The Force was strong with all of them, but they were already adept at shielding and drawing minimal attention to themselves. Given the opportunity, they could easily learn the Mandalorians' traditions, and Obi-Wan made a note to speak to their new neighbours about it.

It was a bright, electrifying dawn when they arrived at the site; the sky was an amazing shade of blue touched with violet. They couldn't have had better weather for their arrival if Obi-Wan had planned it.

The only infrastructure they'd already set up were the three landing platforms, raised on a single thick column at the northern edge of the crater bowl like an asymmetrical tree. The platforms were solid to prevent minor fuel leaks from tainting the soil, but set high enough over the ground that rain and sunlight would reach the tall grasses beneath. The support column housed a full freight lift as well as stairs; everyone insisted on walking the four storey distance to the ground, wide eyes staring through the transparisteel outer wall at the rolling _vhetin._

Ruuli and Qiiun were the first to set foot on Mandalore; as she stepped out of the way of the door, Ruuli looked as if she were about to cry. She accepted Obi-Wan's offered hug, squeezing tightly around his ribs.

"This is real, yes? I'm not dreaming?"

He pressed his cheek to the top of his _vod'_s head, feeling the ridges of her seven braids. "It's real. It's _yours."_

She leaned back a little to frown up at him."And yours," she chided. "This is your _aliit-"_ she said the new word carefully- "and it's as much your home as ours."

"I doubt I'll be around much," Obi-Wan said quietly. It still felt like he had so much left to do… and he couldn't fathom settling anywhere. Not just yet.

"Maybe so, but your _yaim_ will be here for you when you need it."

.

Obi-Wan saw Roz's pilot off, and then he and Pulkka took the _Sunflare_ out to Yustapir'urci Joruuya to collect the prefabs and supplies they'd had delivered. The mixed clans of the _joruuya_ helped with loading, cheerfully bantering with them, and then loaded up several ground vehicles with people and additional gear.

Obi-Wan arched a brow at one of the other _aliit'alorë,_ a woman who looked human save for the distinct blue tinge to her weathered skin and the bright crimson of her irises. "Do I want to know what's going on?"

She grinned. "It's _nau'yaim,_ Bastra: a chance for neighbors to meet and help each other. Also, we're bringing enough food to keep everyone going for a while." She waved to three massive, temperature-controlled crates. "You can't build a _vhett_ on rations alone. We'll show you how Mando'adë do it, properly."

He rubbed the back of his neck, painfully aware of how out of his depth he still was. "I feel I owe you for this-"

"This is what we call '_yaim'la tomë', vod,"_ she said gently. "We are not your _aliit_ but we are _yaimië,_ and we aid each other." She held her arm out for him to clasp. "We didn't have the chance to meet before. _Ner gai_ Ascher, _aliit_ Nuru."

He completed the gesture, holding their arms wrist to wrist above their vambraces. _"Ner gai _Scogar, _aliit_ Bastra."

_"Jatë!"_ Ascher grinned and clapped his shoulder, tugging him towards a cluster of people who were clearly relatives. "This will be a good week!"

What had seemed such a daunting task suddenly became a party that only happened to involve constructing buildings. Once everyone had gathered at the site and the _Sunflare'_s cargo had been unloaded, Rakka and Ascher handed over the rough plans Obi-Wan and the rest of his clan had drawn up to their engineering experts. Within minutes, ideas and sketches on sheets of flimsi were flying back and forth, and Obi-Wan sat back to watch with one arm around Zoh's shoulders, grinning at how his people energised once they figured out that their neighbours would listen to them.

Feid dropped in on his other side, breaking the Mandalorian version of a ration bar - a dense cake which was home-made and definitely tasted better - into chunks to share. "You don't wanna say anything?" she asked, tilting her chin at the lively discussion.

Obi-Wan shook his head, chewing thoughtfully. "The clan heard my opinions earlier when we were trying to figure things out. But this is for _them;_ their opinion should matter more. Besides," he said, grinning, "they should learn of Mandalore for themselves, not through me."

Feid squinted at him. "You act like you don't want to be a part of their lives."

"They only just got their freedom, they don't need me leaning over their shoulders telling them what to do."

She punched his arm. "Dumbass. That's not what I meant and you know it."

"I think you're afraid," Zoh said suddenly.

Blinking, Obi-Wan frowned at her. "How do you mean?"

"Well, uh…." She wrinkled her nose, ears twitching back and tickling his cheek. "The last time you were part of a big group, they threw you out for doing something they disapproved of. And you mostly try to avoid really joining other big groups, like Hondo's people or Nym's. Maybe it's safer to only stay with a few people who you know won't judge you, but now you have a family. A big one."

"I only did this for their sake," he protested. Feid snorted.

"And not because your boyfriend suggested it?"

The burning heat in his cheeks had to be from the sun. "We haven't decided if we're… _that,_ yet-"

"Yeah, sure."

He glared at her. "This was suggested by the _Mand'alor._ I wouldn't have considered it without his support. Regardless of what else we might be to each other."

Zohli got up suddenly. "I'm gonna go meet people."

"Have fun, darling." He gave her a smile before returning to mock-glaring at Feid, who smirked at him.

"Kiddo's got a point, you know."

Sighing, Obi-Wan gave up glaring and slumped against her. "Maybe a bit. But I'm also trying to keep people safe. Scogar Bastra is a known bounty hunter and mercenary; Scogar Bastra has now landed on _Kyr'tsad'_s scanners by accident. I'm worried. It's not like I had the forethought to introduce myself under a different name."

Feid rubbed the base of one of her horns. "Good point. And there are lots of Mandos who happily go about getting reputations without worrying about the people back at home."

_"Their_ people back at home are at least as competent in defending themselves. I've asked Rakka's people to help train them - and myself." He grinned at her. "You and Pulkka are welcome to join us."

"I never say no to learning new ways to kick people's asses."

They both looked up as several people in the planning group began to call for Scogar to join them. Obi-Wan caught sight of Zoh near Qiiun's elbow, grinning at him; she waved cheekily and dashed off to join a cluster of teenagers.

"It's a good thing you have a kiddo to bust you out of your shell, huh?"

Obi-Wan stood up and caught Feid's wrist, tugging her upright as she whined. "If I have to, so do you!" Laughing and shoving each other, they joined the gathered clans to decide where the buildings needed to go.

* * *

It was almost shocking to suddenly be among dozens of kids about her own age. Zohli had lost count at fifty, between her new clan and their neighbors - _yaimië,_ she reminded herself. Oh, some were older than her by almost five years, and others weren't quite teenagers, but they all clustered together as a group. Some had produced pocket-sized toys to share and teach others how to use. A few inflatable balls of varying sizes, all brightly coloured so as not to get lost in the grass, had appeared out of nowhere and one of the older Duros teens was organising some kind of team game while they waited for the adults to finalise the building plans.

It was chaotic: Clan Bastra had almost forty kids as it was: human, twi'lek, Devaronian, Bothan and Kubaz. The smaller clans from Yustapir'urci were multi-species extended families, including Rakka's sprawling Duros family, and they more than doubled the numbers, although there were more little ones in the arms of their _ba'buirë._

_"Su cuy'gar!"_

Zoh turned to see a girl about her own age with pale blue skin and stark white hair. They clasped arms and Zoh replied, _"Su'cuy! Ner gai_ Zohli."

_"Ner gai_ Kareh. Your Mando'a is already pretty good," Kareh said, switching to Basic. Zoh grinned shyly.

"My _at'tha_ \- uh, my dad - has been teaching me some. _Cabur_ Jango has, too, and _Cabur_ Neve."

"You're _Alor_ Scogar's _ad?"_ Kareh caught Zoh's hand and tugged her over to a cluster of younger teens. "Everyone wants to meet you, your _buir_ talked a lot about you when we met him last month!"

"Really?"

"Well, yeah! Everyone wanted to know about his family. I'm from _aliit_ Nuru, we've been _mando'adë_ for generations. It's not every day we get an entire clan of neighbours who are _cin vhetin."_

Kareh pulled Zoh linto the group, introducing her. Most of the other kids seemed happy to meet her, but a few were frowning, looking skeptical.

_"You're_ his _verd'ika?"_ a Duros girl asked, in a tone that suggested she was unimpressed.

"Tynji!" Kareh hissed.

Bristling, Zohli glared. "I don't have to prove anything to you. Scogar rescued me after my birth parents sold me to a slaver. He gave me a home and a family when I didn't have anything. He taught me to fight, and takes me on jobs with him. Yeah, I'm his _verd'ika."_

Tynji's eyes narrowed. "You don't have to pull the sob story card just to make friends, you know."

"If you think that's a sob story," one of the Darklighter kids - Zoh thought his name was Sei - said, stepping up next to Zohli, "then maybe we should reconsider being friends. All of us were slaves. You have a problem with that?"

They were starting to get attention from the other kids, and Tynji's pale green skin flushed dark.

_She's jealous!_ Zoh realised suddenly. Jealous of _her,_ for some reason, though Zoh couldn't imagine why anyone would be. There might still be time to defuse things, but it was also possible she might make it worse.

But she had to try.

"Look, I think we started on the wrong angle, here," she said, trying to sound reasonable, like Tynji's derision hadn't stung. She held her hand out. _"Ner gai_ Zoh."

Tynji's flush darkened and her lip curled. "Practice your Mando'a on someone else, _slave girl."_ She turned and stomped away, a couple of her friends hurrying after, calling her name.

Zoh folded her arms, scowling. "Ouch. What's her problem?" Someone else who knew Tynji better might have an idea.

"She's not usually like this. Her _buir'_s one of our best _juri'kadë,_ and Tynji dreams of claiming that title someday," one of the boys explained. "Everyone's been talking about your _buir'_s fight with Vizsla, and Tynji's _buir_ asked him to share techniques. She's been prickly ever since."

Shaking her head, Zoh let Sei sling an arm around her shoulders; he was only twelve but already taller than her. "That doesn't explain anything, though."

"I bet she's worried you'll be better than her, because your _buir_ is an outsider but already really good," Kareh said. "Which is dumb; it would just mean you're both good."

"I haven't trained with a sword at all," Zohli protested. Her _at'tha_ had shown her some really basic things once, but she was more interested in learning Feid's hand to hand style. Swords were for people who had more Force connection than she did, or people who'd been training since before they could walk.

"We saw you sparring with the Zabrak lady, though," Sei said, brushing shaggy dark hair out of his eyes. "Fade, right?"

"Feid," Zoh corrected easily, "the 'd' is softer. She's been teaching me, yeah."

"So you could challenge her to a sparring match!"

A bunch of the nearest kids seemed excited about that, but it… felt wrong. And winning a fight - or even just challenging Tynji to one - wouldn't do anything to make her stop seeing Zohli as competition. Zoh shook her head.

"I don't need to fight her - or anyone. Look, just let it go. I'll figure something out."

Everyone looked really disappointed; Zoh fished into her pocket for a length of sturdy cord she'd braided herself and tied into a loop. The old Zygerrian folklore, told with words and illustrated with patterns of string, was one of the few things she'd chosen to keep from her former home. The practice had been taught to her by the slave woman who'd maintained her wing of her parents' house; her parents would likely have been furious with both of them had they ever found out.

She twisted the cord into a complicated arrangement around her fingers and held it up to get everyone's attention. "Who wants to hear a story?"

* * *

The layout for the farm was simple - styled after a traditional _vheh'yaim_ \- but _much_ larger and more contemporary, and with plenty of room to expand. The compound was a circular building over two hundred metres in diameter with a central courtyard a hundred metres across, and the internal ceiling height was set to peak at twelve metres.

When the _aliit'alorë_ from Yustapir'urci had recommended the design on his second visit, Obi-Wan had expressed his concern at the sheer _scale_ of it all.

They'd all had a good laugh about it. _"You have to remember,"_ Rakka had said, _"this is a modern yaim for a large clan that will need room to grow. Our joruuya has much smaller buildings because it was built up one minor clan at a time; it's a different type of social structure."_

_"Literally,"_ Obi-Wan had responded dryly. _"It's… a lot bigger than I thought we would be working with."_ It was practically a fortress - especially considering the lookout posts and hidden ladders to defense platforms concealed under the sod roof which someone had added to the plans.

Shalmaarr, _aliit'alor_ of Yustapir'urci's one Wokkiee clan, had clapped his shoulder lightly. _[[During the winter, when nobody wants to spend as much time outside, you'll be glad of the extra space!]]_

Despite the scope of the _yaim'_s foundation, by the end of the first day they had the full layout plotted and the sod carefully cut and lifted out for later use on the roof and in the courtyard. It was a _tremendous_ amount of manual labour nobody entrusted to the construction droids they had rented - those would be used for the excavation and structural labour. But with over three hundred people working together, teaching each other songs and getting acquainted, the time passed quickly and nobody felt overworked.

The circle of the compound had only a single entry: a multiple-gate system, broad enough to accommodate a cargo lifter, would be installed in the northernmost side, facing the landing platforms. The ten-metre wide outer ring would be sunk into the ground by a metre and a half, while the rest of the structure and courtyard would be sunk to a total depth of four and a half metres, providing security and natural temperature control; an outer breezeway and low windows at ground height would allow for airflow as well as security should they ever have to defend their home.

Obi-Wan really hoped it would never come to that.

The northeast section would eventually be used to house whatever livestock the clan chose to cultivate, a notion Obi-Wan found daunting. The clan would need to source their own protein, though, and certain stock animals would help keep the local pests under control. Opposite, the northwest wing would have three levels to be used for produce, processing, and an extensive hydroponics facility to extend their off-season supply

The central section on the south side would be all living space. A wide central hall would be used for communal activities, with stairs leading up to an internal walkway and smaller rooms for infirmaries, storage, meditation and more private activities on the higher level. The main room would be open up to the rafters, while the side rooms would have ceilings and a storage area in the loft overhead; this would leave the private rooms warmer in the winter, and the thick walls would provide a sound buffer. The southwest wing would be the armory, workshops, and a training hall; the southeast would be the primary living space.

Along the inner wall was a planned three levels of additional work and storage rooms; the upper two levels would have doors out onto a pair of porches protected by the eaves, which wrapped all the way around the inner wall. Obi-Wan found the plans for a hanging herb garden and rain chains feeding into the central cistern surprisingly engaging - maybe he'd inherited some of Qui-Gon's obsession with plants after all.

The part he was most uncertain about was the apiary which someone had added to the courtyard.

"Do we even know how to take care of bees?"

Diep, a Theelin and the youngest of their neighbouring _aliit'alorë_ at only a few years older than Obi-Wan, showed him the donation of cases in the back of his cargo skimmer, where the pollinators rested in temporary stasis. "A new queen showed up and giving her and her hive to you was the best option for preventing a swarm. They're fairly low-maintenance once you get them set up. They need to be checked on regularly, of course, but keeping the apiary in the courtyard protects them from wild animals that will absolutely ransack the hives for the honey. You take care of them, and they'll take care of you."

The prefab shelters they had rented from a company in Keldabe filled the courtyard space where the precious sod had already been cleared, dome-shaped pop-up structures that could hold ten adults comfortably around a small central heating unit to stave off the growing autumn chill. Their _yaimië_ had brought an immense grill, a chiller full of marinated meat and vegetables, and an array of instruments. The more experienced among them tried to teach the others traditional dances, and the festive air carried late into the evening, sending them all to sleep tired but happy.

.

The second day was largely busy-work as the droids carved the foundations down from the topsoil down into rich, dark loam. A significant portion of the soil was set aside for use in the rammed-earth walls, the hanging garden, and hydroponics; anything left would be tilled into the fields once they were ready. The adults did the heavy lifting, separating the fieldstone to be used later. The kids spent their time catching as many peatworms from the recovered soil as they could, so the living creatures could find safer homes.

By the time the sun had set, a foundation layer of pourstone had been laid around premade sockets for the superstructural columns. The lower retaining wall would also be pourstone, while the breezeway would be lined with the fieldstones recovered in the excavation. Everything else would be made of pre-treated wood.

They could have made use of the forest on the south and east of the property, but Obi-Wan had hesitated; it was still a relatively young forest, and he didn't want to risk taking more than it could afford to lose. Eventually they might harvest a few trees, but the wood would more likely be used for making crafts to sell in Keldabe and offworld, if Obi-Wan could get the permits for it.

.

All of the plumbing lines went in the next day; the bare pipes would eventually be covered by a floating wood floor laid over the pourstone, with removable panels for easy maintenance. In the interests of generating as little pollution as possible, the prefabbed refresher blocks each contained an efficient composting and reclamation tank, which would supplement the fertilizer they would eventually process from their livestock.

The cistern in the centre of the courtyard went in at the same time, with pipes buried under the packed earth from where the rain chains would eventually connect. When it came time to sink the well pumps, the members of Obi-Wan's new clan demonstrated a natural affinity for finding the best places to put them, and he couldn't help but feel a rush of pride at their excitement.

Ascher found him shortly thereafter. "I'm not certain how much the Mand'alor told you," she started hesitantly, "but the _mando'adë_ have… traditions. I didn't realise your clan would have so much affinity for the _manda."_

He nodded easily. "It's not something they talk about, because as slaves, being discovered to have certain talents would inevitably lead to them being exploited. _I_ knew, but… I was once in training to be a Jedi. Obviously it didn't take," he joked, and she gave him a searching look.

"That explains a great deal. We'll start teaching them the focusing songs while we work, then, and once you have a roof over your heads, perhaps a few would like further teaching?"

"I'm certain some would leap at the opportunity. I would like to learn, myself." He remembered their early days, with Zoh asking if she could learn to do what he did. Maybe she still could. "Zohli might, too."

"Excellent! And perhaps you might share some of your own techniques?" She grinned when he raised an eyebrow at her. "We may be wary of the Jedi, but a tool should not be discarded simply because we're at odds with its creator."

"I'll admit, I never considered that this might help ease the rift between the Jedi and Mando'adë."

"From what I understand, we have many similarities in our cultures. Some may see us as eternal enemies, but every time _jetii_ and _mando'adë_ have clashed, it was at the behest of another." Ascher offered a wry smile. "I wonder if building bridges wouldn't be a better use of our energy."

Jedi and Mandalorians working together would be a formidable force. Obi-Wan considered for a moment - there were some things he wouldn't share, of course, since Mando'adë related to the _manda _very differently from how Jedi related to the Force. Those lessons wouldn't translate well. But focusing exercises, shielding, learning to read the world around them… that, he could share. He grinned back. "I would happily instruct any who are interested."

.

It did take a full week to finish the construction of the _yaim;_ ten days of hard work, camaraderie, and evening celebration. The last blocks of sod were laid in the courtyard as the sun was setting, gleaming like liquid bronze from the solar panels, and Rakka, Ascher, Shalmaarr, Ges'tar, Diep, and Urden pulled Obi-Wan up in front of the gathered clans.

"Ten days ago, Scogar Bastra, I told you this was the _nau'yaim_, the lighting of the hearthfire," Ascher started, in Basic for the sake of the many whose Mando'a was still rudimentary. "And to some extent, that was true. We have spent these days forging bonds of _vodyc_ and of _yaim'la tomë,_ of the closeness that comes from family and a sense of belonging. With their own hands, your _aliit_ has claimed and raised their new home. It's an achievement worthy of celebration. But until this moment, the _nau'yaim_ could not truly begin: because you had no hearthfire to light. It is time."

Ges'tar, an aging twi'lek with bright, laughing eyes, stepped forward with a small blown-glass lamp - deep purple for home and family - cupped in her hands, its transparent belly filled with clear oil. Rakka handed Obi-Wan an ancient lighter, just a simple set of tongs with a striker on one side and flint on the other; despite its age, the tool was efficient, and the sparks caught on the lamp filament. Rakka took the lighter back, and Ges'tar placed the lamp in Obi-Wan's hands.

He hesitated.

"Qiiun? Ruuli? Would you come forward?"

Obi-Wan wasn't certain if he was breaking a traditional ritual, or if it was open to alterations, but… it was _important_ to include them, as a sign to the rest of their clan that he alone was not making the decisions.

Ruuli's eyes glistened with unshed, happy tears as she stepped up beside him; Qiiun was more inscrutable behind his goggles, but the way he gripped Obi-Wan's elbow spoke volumes. Obi-Wan cleared his throat.

"You keep reminding me that this is my home, too. But I would never have been here if not for you. And this was all for you; I'm grateful that you all accepted me and my family into your own. Our lives are better because you're a part of them."

Holding the lit lamp carefully between them in one hand, Obi-Wan pulled first Qiiun, then Ruuli, in, pressing their foreheads together for a moment. "I know this goes without saying at this point, but I want it to be known to our _yaimië: Ni kar'tayl gai'ë sa'aliit."_

Ruuli glanced at Qiiun, who nodded. Smiling broadly at Obi-Wan, she said carefully, _"Mhi kar'tayl gai cuun'vod."_

Standing off to the side, Ges'tar gave a little squeak of delight, and several of their neighbours made sounds of appreciation at the gesture. Obi-Wan grinned and held his elbows out for his sister and brother to take, and led them through the open double doors into their new home.

The lamp was placed on the mantle over the central hearth - the concept of a 'hearthfire' had long since become metaphorical since the introduction of technology - and then their neighbours proved that the celebrations of the last nine nights had only been a warm-up.

* * *

_Reformation Year 981.04.20  
Korriban_

The longer they stayed here, training and learning from Lord Victis, the more twitchy Maul felt. He had been gone a long time; eventually his Master would call him back and demand to see the results of what Mother Talzin offered. He dreaded bringing Feral and Savage before Lord Sidious, particularly before they were ready.

They were not ready. Close, perhaps, but not _ready._

So when a new voice from behind him said, "Korriban, huh? Not what I expected," Maul had his lightsaber out and aimed at the person's face before they finished speaking.

A human man stood there, barely taller than Maul and dressed in simple spacers' garb. Dark eyes squinted at him with amusement, as if the red blade humming near his throat were no threat at all.

"You're Maul, aren't you?"

"How do you-"

"Ulic!" Lord Victis appeared out of nowhere; she looked as happy as Maul had ever seen her. She tilted her head at the man and tugged a bit at the red wrap around his neck and shoulder. "I see you finally got yourself together. I don't approve, of course, but I suppose it's for the better, under the circumstances."

Maul blinked; Victis was a spirit and had proven completely intangible. Which meant- "You're a spirit?"

The man grinned and passed his hand clear through the end of Maul's blade without a mark. "Yeah." He looked back at Victis. "Found yourself some acolytes?"

Before Maul could bristle at the title, Victis corrected, "Champions. They should complement yours nicely."

"And here I thought you'd claimed Obi-Wan too."

_"Kenobi?"_ Maul interrupted. "What does _he_ have to do with all this?"

Kenobi had utterly vanished off his Master's scanners shortly after departing Serenno. Maul would have considered it fortunate, had the man not appeared in his cell, given him the strength to heal himself, and then disappeared into thin air.

_"It is our way."_

_"It doesn't have to be."_

He wasn't certain how he felt about Kenobi. The man was meant to be his nemesis. His challenger. His potential replacement and his eternal target. Lord Sidious had implied as much, in his words when locking Maul away to mend himself. He would never be free until he defeated that pathetic Jedi.

But Kenobi was no longer a Jedi, and that changed things.

Victis gave him an indulgent smile as Savage and Feral drew closer from where they'd been arguing over one of the passages inscribed on the wall - the Sith Spirit did love to have them puzzle things out for themselves. "Obi-Wan Kenobi has everything to do with it, I'm afraid. If not for him, Ulic and I would never have decided to move against your Master; if not for him, you would likely never have encountered your brothers, nor come here to find me. Much as you dislike the man, he is your ally."

"Speaking of allies," Ulic said, scowling, "your brother is not helping us. In fact he was blocking me from reaching you for ages."

Lord Victis shook her head sorrowfully, but Malu doubted there was much real feeling behind it; she'd never spoken kindly of her own brother. "Pyrra, unfortunately, has chosen his own Champions, and he always did favour the old Sith concepts of perpetual conflict. _If_ his Champions deign to cooperate with us - which is unlikely, my brother chooses people who remind him of himself - we can expect to be stabbed in the back. He - and whomever he's chosen - cannot be trusted."

Savage was frowning in a way that suggested he was thinking hard about several things at once; Maul had come to accept that, once his younger brother chose to speak, whatever he offered would solve most problems.

Feral spoke up. "Why do you need so many Champions?"

Ulic took a seat - by way of simply sitting in midair and pulling his legs up into a half-lotus, and Maul wasn't entirely certain what to make of that - and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. "Because Maul's Master, Sidious, is firstly a highly prescient individual - meaning he gets a lot of visions of the future - and secondly he's utilising a thousand years of Sith plotting and machinations. Half of his contacts and connections he inherited from predecessors; possibly more." He held up a hand to forestall Feral's next question. "That part isn't as important right now, because there's nothing we can do about it. The trick with visions of the future, however, is that you don't see the absolute future, just a potential one. Sidious doesn't so much _foresee_ the future that is, for lack of a better term, _real;_ he guides people and events to align with the future visions he likes the best. It's kinda like playing dejarik: while possibility is infinite, _people_ are predictable, and if you know how they've responded to things in the past, you can guess what they'll do in the future."

"Sidious is a manipulator," Victis said. "You've seen this yourself, Maul. He gets to know people, their actions and reactions, he molds them into predictable elements on the board, and he has so many in play that he has hundreds of potential responses and reactions to any minor setback. He thinks he's planned for every eventuality. So the first thing we had to do was find people in good positions to affect him, and pull them beyond his control."

"Kenobi is well out of his reach, for now, and I aim to keep it that way for as long as possible," Ulic growled.

Victis' smile was cold, but it was also genuine as she looked at Maul, Savage, and Feral. "And I am working on giving the edge you three will require. There are others I am helping, as well, and I hope you will be able to meet them someday."

"You see, Sidious can have all the visions of the future he wants. But spirits?" Ulic grinned and spread his hands, indicating himself and Lord Victis. "The actions and interference of spirits don't register in the Force the same way the actions of living sentients do. Same goes for droids, actually; if you need to hide something from him, give it to a droid. Sidious has no idea what sort of training you're receiving here. When you finally meet him, you'll be able to hide the true depth of your knowledge."

Savage took a breath and Maul looked at him expectantly.

"That doesn't explain _why_ you need so many of us. But… a single piece on a game board is easy to track. If there's more in play, then the board becomes more unpredictable. Right?" Savage blinked as Victis nodded, smiling proudly at him. "So… what if we added more people? You said you know someone who's _nice,_ didn't you, Maul?"

"Caliiga, yes. Another of Sidious' acolytes," Maul explained. "She's too caring; eventually Sidious will kill her for it." The thought made his gut twist hard: if it ever came to that, it would likely be at his own hands.

"Right, so we find a way to talk to her-"

"I can handle that," Ulic suggested.

Lord Victis nodded in agreement. "I still have a few restrictions I must abide by; Ulic has more freedom."

Speaking of Caliiga reminded him of her current assignment. "There's that other acolyte," Maul blurted. "Lord Sidious has Caliiga trying to track down the acolyte of a potential rival Sith Lord."

Ulic's eyes narrowed. "Potential rival Sith Lord? Who the hell would that be?"

"We don't know yet, but the acolyte calls himself Davine-"

The spirit burst into laughter; Victis glared at him. "Do show _some_ decorum befitting your _advanced age,_ Ulic."

"Oh, fuck off Victis," he responded without heat. Still snickering, Ulic shook his head. "Davine's one of mine, don't worry about him."

"What about _his_ Master?" Feral asked.

Ulic leaned forward, grinning conspiratorially. "The secret is: he doesn't have one. He's pulling a massive con on Sidious. I'm thrilled to know it's working."

Maul tucked that information away deep in the back of his mind, under the heaviest shields he had. It wouldn't do for his Master to find _that_ particular piece of information too soon, not when it kept him jumping at shadows and distracted. "But we should still look for other people who can be directed to work against Lord Sidious. It's a start."

* * *

.

* * *

I did my second degree in architecture. It's nice to have an excuse to use it xD

**Mando'a translations:**  
**vhetin** \- "open, rolling fields"  
**aliit** -"family"  
**yaim** \- "home"  
**joruuya** \- "village"  
**aliit'alorë **_-_ "clan leaders (plural)"  
**nau'yaim** \- "lighting of the home"  
**vhett** \- "farm"  
**yaim'la tomë**_ -_ "comfortable togetherness"  
**yaimi**_**ë** \- _"neighbours (plural)"  
**ner gai** \- "my name is"  
**jatë **_-_ "excellent!"  
**ba'buirë**_ -_ "grandparents (plural)"  
**su cuy'gar** \- "Hello!"  
**su'cuy** \- "Hi!"  
**alor** \- "leader"  
**ad** \- "kid"  
**buir** \- "parent"  
**cin vhetin** \- "starting anew" (literally, "white field")  
**verd'ika** \- "teenager too young to be considered a legal adult but old enough to fight under supervision" (literally: "littel soldier")  
**juri'kadë**_ -_ "sword fighters (plural)"  
**vheh'yaim** \- "a dwelling dug into the ground and roofed with local greenery"  
**manda** \- "the collective soul of Mandalore"  
**vodyc** \- "comradeship"  
**Ni kar'tayl gai'ë sa'aliit** \- "I recognise you as my family"  
**Mhi kar'tayl gai cuun'vod **\- "we recognise you as our sibling"


	9. Chapter 9: Dush'aalarë

**CHAPTER 09: Dush'aalarë  
**

_Reformation Year 981.04.26  
The Sunflare_

It felt a bit wrong to leave the _vhett_ \- now named _Vercopaani'vaar_ by an overwhelming majority vote - before the fields had been fully laid out, but Obi-Wan had some rather urgent business that he could finally finish, now that he had a safe place to call home.

The thought left a happy warmth in his core whenever he thought of it. The _Sunflare_ was of course _theirs_ \- the essences of Pulkka, Feid, and Zohli had sunk into its skin alongside his, and the ship would always be where he truly lived. But the _vhett_ felt _right,_ felt welcoming and comfortable, and they'd all been folded into the larger clan in a way that never left any of them questioning whether they belonged. Even if Feid had difficulty sleeping in the main hall with everyone and spent more nights in a private room alone, that was precisely what the rooms were for, and nobody begrudged her the need.

One of the rooms he'd made over into a personal workroom and office, stashing the relics he'd collected, the books he'd stolen from Dooku, and a number of other sensitive items in a set of blast-proof bookcases that locked tightly. He hadn't needed to make excuses for the security - the rest of the clan had been made aware of his ongoing research, and respected the knowledge that the Dark Side things he kept were as dangerous as a live grenade. He'd already dedicated hours to layering shielding in the Force into both the storage shelves and the room itself, so that he could work without fearing ill effects to the rest of his family.

There was just one piece left to retrieve.

It was a three-day run out to Takodana, and Obi-Wan took this first real stretch of time where he didn't have to be in the fields working for several hours to properly meditate on a lot of things he'd been putting off.

Before anything else, Obi-Wan took some time to cultivate his existing connections. People who weren't Force-sensitive still formed bonds with others, even if they weren't able to sense or use them, and he had strong links to Zohli, Feid, Pulkka and Phel. There was a new little bundle of threads linking him to his clan, and the cluster was surprisingly orderly, their sheer numbers making them stronger together than they might have been individually. Some of those connections returned a conscious response to his attentions as the stronger Force-sensitives felt his presence. It was nothing like being in the Temple, where such a plethora would have been frowned upon, but it had a similar resonance, as if Obi-Wan was still at home on the vhett surrounded by everyone. He got to carry a little piece of his new family linked into his soul, even while far away across the galaxy, and Obi-Wan wondered if _this_ was what the Mando'adë meant when they spoke of the _manda._

More surprising were the bonds he found linking himself to Jango and Boba. He hadn't attempted to form any, suspecting that Jango might object, but… there they were. Brushing Boba's fledgling bond brought the bright impression of sunlight and fresh, tart berries - he was still a bit too young to register loss and pain on an intellectual level, but his short life was mostly unscarred.

Jango's in contrast, Obi-Wan approached with caution. It carried the glint of lightning on beskar, the searing flash of a blaster bolt, and the comforting smoke of a campfire. Jango was a dangerous person - that had been apparent from the moment Obi-Wan had seen him, the moment Obi-Wan had known he wanted to be a part of the Mandalorian's life. But it was a danger in the way an adult vornskr, protecting its pack, was dangerous; Obi-Wan had been accepted as a part of that pack, and the danger was turned outward.

It was possible Jango wasn't aware of the bond at all. Testing, Obi-Wan brushed it lightly and received an immediate response in return, like fingers weaving into his own.

_Oh._ Obi-Wan squeezed, gently, before letting go - Jango felt busy, his attention mostly elsewhere - and caught the impression of a warm smile as he backed away. It seemed bonds between Mando'adë weren't very different from bonds between Jedi.

Ulic was… not gone. Obi-Wan could sense the spirit out somewhere in the galaxy; the place where his friend's presence hung didn't feel empty, at least. It wasn't a bond, not really, but there was a tenuous thread of connection that thrummed a response from the other end when he nudged it. Obi-Wan relaxed a bit with relief, and he figured Ulic would find him eventually.

Although, thinking of Ulic reminded Obi-Wan of the truly unpleasant revelation they'd shared a while earlier. A revelation so potentially disastrous that Obi-Wan had wrapped it up tightly and locked it away in a dark corner of his mind under heavy shielding. He knew it was there, and that it was terrible, and that the slightest indiscretion with that knowledge could put him and everyone in incredible danger. In meditation, he could take it out and puzzle over it, but it wouldn't do to be thinking about it whilst going about his daily business.

In the garden of his mind, it looked like a stone, unassuming and commonplace; the dark vines that had grown up around the softer plants actively avoided it, leaving that portion of the garden populated by little pink puffball flowers. They were amoxicines, native to Dantooine, and if disturbed physically, the plants would spray stinging spines smaller than a human hair in every direction; the toxins in the spines could make an adult human dreadfully ill. Just because the flowers were a manifestation within his mind didn't make them any less dangerous to an intruder.

The plants parted in front of him willingly, allowing him to pick up the stone. It unfolded in his hands, revealing the truth: that the Sith Lord Sidious, whom Count Dooku answered to, whom Obi-Wan had been evading for five years, was Supreme Chancellor Palpatine.

Obi-Wan had no better clue what to do with this knowledge now than he had when he'd first locked it away in his mind. It made him shudder, looking at all the disparate pieces of information that came together into a single awful truth. If he had still been a Jedi, perhaps he would have taken this knowledge to the Council; but what could they have done? In his investigations into the funding behind the Trade Federation, none of the credit chains had actively tied back to Sheev Palpatine, although it was possible he might be able to find it by investigating Palpatine directly. But that might set off alerts that someone was looking into the man's history.

The Sith hadn't become so adept at hiding for a thousand years by being sloppy with their connections. The odds of Obi-Wan finding any concrete evidence to throw at Bail Organa were slim to none. He could only hope Organa was having an easier time networking the Senate.

In theory, Obi-Wan could present the information he had to the Jedi Council. In theory. But what would they do with that information? Historically, the Sith were under the sole purview of the Jedi, and they would be within their rights to execute a known Sith Lord. However, this Sith Lord was the Supreme Chancellor, and any attempt at attacking him would turn the Senate against the Order - it was likely Palpatine was even prepared for that eventuality. Knowing the way the Order functioned, Obi-Wan could imagine them attempting to handle the matter via appropriate channels - either a petition in the Senate, or an outright attempt to take Palpatine into custody and let Judicial deal with him.

There was no way either of those methods would work. Considering the financial records Obi-Wan had assembled courtesy of Kardin Lo, Palpatine had a leash on a number of Senators, in one way or another - the Senate would throw out any accusations from the Jedi, possibly twist it around to suggest the Order was attempting a coup, and tighten the restrictions upon the Order.

And if they tried to arrest him… well, _someone_ had trained Maul to the point where he'd held off two of the Order's best duellists in a fair fight, and good fighters didn't become good by learning from shoddy ones. His apparent age notwithstanding, Palpatine was likely an expert with a lightsaber.

No, there was nothing the Jedi could do directly against the Supreme Chancellor. Not at this time. And the odds of him simply giving up that power now that he had it were slim. Term limits for the Supreme Chancellor were four years, with a maximum of two terms in a row; Palpatine had won his second term the year previous with very little question, mostly because he'd convinced a couple of systems to not secede from the Republic. It _looked_ like the Senate had confidence in him, although the odds that the scenario had been staged were high.

Obi-Wan was, in fact, swiftly losing all faith that the larger Senate body would do anything that didn't benefit individual Senators directly. It was much easier to see the effects once you hit the Mid-Rim and beyond than in the Core, and even Outer Rim Senators like Orn Free Taa resided in a level of luxury that was unknown on their homeworlds.

If there was one Jedi Obi-Wan could trust to handle the information with due care, it was Nejaa. The problem was that Obi-Wan couldn't expect the man to just take his word for it - he'd need proof.

He needed Ulic back.

Sighing, Obi-Wan folded the information back into its rock form and let the amoxicines cluster back around it. There was little he could do for the moment beyond protecting himself and his family.

The garden itself _seemed_ healthy - none of the vines were choking out the other plants or damaging the walls. Obi-Wan traced the vines back to their roots, ensuring that the balance continued below what was visible on the surface. The garden may have only been a visual metaphor for his state of mind, but sometimes metaphors could get out of control. The vines tended to spring up near plants that represented his traumas, of course; that much was natural and nothing to be concerned about. It was if the dark vines started taking over that he would need to be careful. He was still addressing his old hurts one at a time, and as long as he kept doing so, he expected things would maintain an equilibrium.

It was obvious how easily one could allow their Darkness to take over; keeping himself balanced and in control required real, consistent work. Slacking off was not an option. Did the old Sith spend time controlling themselves in a similar way? Or was letting oneself slip considered a point of pride?

He let the matter drop and spent a little more time rolling over a few matters that weren't urgent but did need consideration, before pulling himself out of meditation.

Pulkka found Obi-Wan a while later in the lounge, making notes on his datapad with a cup of caf at his elbow. He tilted his head towards the fresh pot on its heating pad and she grunted in appreciation.

The Whiphid matriarch's auburn fur had gained a coppery sheen from hours spent outside in the sun, and she'd shed a great deal of the undercoat, leaving her mane looking less fluffy and almost sleek. It was a good look for her, even if she'd grumbled mightily about the shedding. Some of the bolder children had descended on her with combs, working the knots out of her mane while the rest of the clan set up fruit trellises and orchards.

Obi-Wan wondered if he would ever tire of the delightful domesticity they'd fallen into. He desperately hoped he wouldn't.

"More financial records?" Pulkka asked as she settled in next to him.

"Compiling them for Senator Organa. There's a few new names, senators who seem to be getting re-elected repeatedly despite the odds. It feels like someone is stacking the Senate in their favour." He could understand why the average galactic citizen felt like politics was too complex to track: it was difficult to continue to care after a while of seeing records indicating corruption. It was one of the main reasons Jedi involved in diplomacy tried to divorce their emotions from the situation - if they were to truly seek _justice,_ a lot of politicians would be removed from their positions, and the Senate would be in an uproar.

Maybe they should do that anyway.

"You've been working on that for a long time."

Obi-Wan sighed. "The galaxy is a big place, and the links between the Trade Federation and their allies are a confusing web of false or stolen IDs. Or real people who happen to now be conveniently dead." Or missing. He added a note for Organa to get someone to look into the well-being of former-Chancellor Valorum's aide, Silman. The man's name cropped up enough times, either sending or receiving funds, that his sudden disappearance seemed suspicious.

Pulkka rumbled thoughtfully and sipped at her caf, doctored almost to death with bantha milk. Obi-Wan had started drinking caf in an attempt to fit in among Booster and the spacers he associated with - none of them drank tea, and there hadn't been any at all on the _Eidolon Hazard_ except for the aromatic herbal blend Fan'udar had pushed on anyone who seemed to be catching a cold. After two days, the caffeine withdrawal headache had driven him to a bit of desperation. Despite his acquired tolerance for the drink now, Obi-Wan wondered why Pulkka bothered putting caf in her milk at all.

"But you're no closer to finding the source."

"Oh. I know who the source is." Obi-Wan tapped his temple. "It's just dangerous. Very dangerous. And I need to have solid evidence in hand before I tell anyone else, or nobody will believe me."

She looked at him sharply. "It's not a Jedi, is it?"

He laughed, startled at the idea. "No. Although it might be easier to deal with if it were. No, this is pure politics."

"Jedi are political." There was no judgment in her voice, just a hint of chiding him for not considering that fact. "They act on behalf of the Republic. Right?"

"That's just their most publicly visible role."

"That's what people know them for."

Obi-Wan frowned. "Fair point. They really haven't done as much social aid work as they used to. Quibbles in the Senate prevent them from getting involved in planetary crises."

With a satisfied grunt, Pulkka knocked back her mug. "See? Political. When did the Senate start telling Jedi where they're allowed to get involved?"

"Uh." Blinking, Obi-Wan switched work frames and pulled up an older file to make sure he had his facts right. "The Reformation at Ruusan, after the last Great Sith War. The Sith were declared to be eradicated, and after the Order announced that the Sith could no longer be detected in the galaxy, the Senate started pushing for them to disarm their warfleet. Eventually the Order handed their fleet over to Judicial, which had suffered massive losses, and offered instead to help maintain the Republic's peace."

He frowned and put the datapad down with a _click._ "I doubt it's public knowledge, but the Great Sith War ended because a single Sith Lord decided he understood the Force better than everyone else and killed off all the other Sith with a single ritual. He thought their power would concentrate and make him more powerful. In a way, he was right: he became the most powerful Sith Lord because there weren't any others left. Because the Force isn't a zero-sum concept; energy is universal."

"Are you certain about that? How does it explain how you can do the-" she held her hand up and wiggled her fingers- "thing, and others can't?"

"Why are some metals magnetic?" Obi-Wan grinned at her glare. "It's not a question of _having_ it or not, it's a question of attunement. Think of the Force as a magnet, and everything else as a piece of ferrous material. With enough exposure to the magnet, a piece of iron can maintain magnetic charge independently for a short while; if the magnet stays in contact, the iron maintains the charge indefinitely. But it always has that potential. After I started teaching Zohli and Phel how to meditate and focus, they started getting better at sensing things without realising that's what they were doing." Obi-Wan shrugged. "They're just better attuned now, and if they continue the practice, their attunement might grow stronger. I recently learned that the Mandalorians have a similar practice; it's _why_ they have a reputation of being powerful warriors. And more evidence that Bane was full of shit," he snorted.

"You're saying I could learn?"

Obi-Wan looked up at her thoughtfully. "It's possible, yes. Do you want to?"

"Maybe." Pulkka wrapped a massive arm around his shoulders and squeezed. "But later. Should be dropping out at Takodana in a few minutes."

"Your sense of timing never ceases to amaze me."

* * *

It was raining in gusty torrents when they landed at Maz's castle; Pulkka and Deesix immediately insisted they would be fine waiting at the ship. Feid simply shrugged and went to put on her water-resistant flightsuit, while Obi-Wan and Zoh's armour both had weatherproof underlayers. The three of them secured their blasters, donned helmets, and ventured out into the deluge.

_"Humidity is registering at 95%,"_ Feid announced. _"We're going to have to spray the external couplings for mildew once we get home."_

_"Especially on the underside of the hull,"_ Zoh agreed. _"Is this the rainy season here?"_

"No, just a front. They can take a while to roll through." Obi-Wan made a note to get anti-fungal solution in Keldabe. Too many people forgot how easily planetary environments could wreak havoc on starship systems. He carefully did not let Feid know she'd just referred to Mandalore as _home,_ but he could tell Zoh had noticed it, too.

Maz greeted them with a delighted shriek that cut through the din of the usual crowd. "We've missed you here! Come, come! I hear you've been busy. Tell me everything!"

There were three people already at Maz's table; they shifted over to make room. The only human among them gave Obi-Wan an appraising look and offered her hand. "Jysella Rotou, captain of the _Lakinta._ This is Keem-" she pointed to a blue-skinned twi'lek man, who waved- "and his sister Shi'ni."

"Just call me 'Shiny,' everyone else does," the woman in question joked. She lived up to her name, with her headdress bedecked with silver and the leatherette of her jacket dyed metallic gold.

"Scogar Bastra. This is Feid, and my daughter, Zohli."

Maz climbed onto the table to plunk drinks in front of them, and gave Obi-Wan the sort of stare that warned him her next question was going to be awkward but still circumspect. "So, what's this I hear about you and a certain Mandalorian, Scogar?"

Jysella's sculpted dark eyebrows rose. "Aw, is he spoken for already?"

Feid snickered and stole a couple of pastries off the table for Pulkka. Obi-Wan narrowed his eyes at Maz. "You've been gossiping with Roz, haven't you?"

"It's not gossip if it's true, young man," Maz said airily.

At least she was kind enough not to specify Jango; that would definitely have made things awkward with the other mercenaries. Obi-Wan sighed and sipped his drink. "We're a very recent development. I'm not going to talk about him when he's not here to defend himself." That would be fun, though: getting Jango and Maz into a conversation together.

"I bet _something_ 'developed'," Keem said with a leer. Shiny threw a napkin at him.

"Behave yourself, we're in public."

"I'm behaving myself!"

"There's a kid here, too."

Keem looked at Zoh, who was trying desperately to hide her amusement behind her cup. "You're old enough to know about… _things,_ right?"

"Keem!"

Zohli spluttered giggles into her drink. "I'm almost fifteen. I've had the standard educational modules, yes."

"See, I'm not saying anything new! Ow!"

Jysella buried her face in her hands. "I can't take you anywhere."

Maz gave the siblings an unimpressed stare and then ignored the byplay. "Certain other people have heard as well-"

"Already?!" Obi-Wan was a little aghast. He and Jango hadn't _been_ anywhere together yet. Nowhere except Keldabe, anyway. Unless Roz had let something slip…. Kriff. She'd likely had a betting pool running. He groaned and rubbed his face. "Who won the pool?"

"I did," Feid said blandly.

He aimed a finger at his spear-sister and second in command. "That's cheating."

"I put my bet in months before that business on Coruscant." She gave him a self-satisfied grin. "Roz thought you'd make a move a lot earlier, but I know what you're like."

"Do I want to know who else was in on this pool?"

In the same breath, Maz and Feid said, "Nope."

"Right," Obi-Wan grumbled. "I'm just going to pretend the last minute of conversation didn't happen."

He started explaining how the _vhett_ was coming along, and at an appropriate pause, Jysella said, "Wait, wait… _you're_ Mandalorian? Where's your sexy armour?"

Feid cracked up laughing and Obi-Wan wrinkled his nose at her. "That's also recent. Anyone can _become_ Mandalorian, if they're willing to pledge loyalty to the Mand'alor and follow the code. And they're making our armour right now." He and Zoh would both need to go back to Keldabe in a couple weeks along with Ruuli, Qiiun, and two others for their final fitting.

"I heard the Mand'alor was dead," Shiny said, frowning. "Are they?"

Zohli shook her head and mumbled, "No, that's a rumour _Kyr'tsad_ spread around," with her mouth half-full of pastry.

Obi-Wan tsked at her for talking with her mouth full, but nodded confirmation when the others glanced at him. "The Mand'alor witnessed our vows personally. Still very much alive."

"What was _that_ like?" Keem asked. "The few Mandos we've seen were always a little scary."

"What's scary about 'em?" Zoh seemed to be both curious and confused.

Feid answered, "Because Mandos have a rep for being terrifying fighters. Also, those helmets are intimidating."

"And they never have a sense of humour," Shiny put in. "So _serious,_ all the time!"

"That's when they're on the job," Obi-Wan said. "Mandalorians have as much humour as anyone else, but they take their work seriously. That's in the codex, actually." Jaster Mereel's Supercommando Codex had some strict rules about behaviour when representing an employer, including how the Mandalorian in question acts whilst still on the planet even after the job was done. It could be intense, but it also made a lot of sense for a culture that was trying to move forward with a reputation as professionals. Some Mando'adë made a personal choice to take it a step further, and never revealed their faces to anyone who was not also Mando'adë whilst on a job - they represented _Mandalore_ rather than just themselves to the rest of the galaxy.

"So you're not on a job right now?"

He shook his head. "Not right now, no. We actually came by to collect something I left in Maz's care a while back."

"And it's about time you did, too!" Maz grumbled.

"I know, but I needed someplace safer to put it than a freighter cargo hold." Obi-Wan shrugged. "Now that I have a place of my own with a secure office, I can finally leave you in peace."

"Psh," Maz scoffed before anyone could ask him what he was retrieving. "The day you leave me in peace, Scogar Bastra, is the day the suns burn out. You're very loud, young man, and your actions carry further than your voice does."

He arched an eyebrow at that. "Are you saying that's a bad thing?"

"Only that you should consider being more careful." She tilted her head to look at him from under her brow ridge, the lenses of her spectacles making her eyes enormous. "Don't go prodding Black Sun like that again, dear. You survived once, but you don't know who you might be dealing with next time."

"You fucked with Black Sun?" Jysella hissed. "You're crazy."

Feid's elbow caught Obi-Wan between the armour plates in his jacket and he winced. "It's not like we knew they were involved before we took the job! And we had reasons for not backing out. Anyway," he sighed, "my usual backup went his own way once it was over."

Maz frowned. "I wondered where your friend was."

"Off to resolve unfinished business. I don't know if he'll be back." Obi-Wan didn't quite succeed at keeping his sorrow off his face.

Keem's _lekku_ twitched. "You're acting really vague about this guy. Got an ex you don't want your boyfriend knowing about?"

For half a second, Satine's disappointed moue flashed through Obi-Wan's mind. "Actually yes, but we're referring to someone else."

"He'll be back," Zoh blurted suddenly. "I have a good feeling about it."

They stayed a while, being sociable and catching up with a few of Maz's regulars who dropped by. One of them bore the unwelcome news that Cavik Toth had re-formed his mercenary group and was taking contracts from the Trade Federation.

"Calling themselves Sabaoth Squadron, now. Prissy, jumped-up name for a bunch of pirate trash, but you know Toth - he's got _ambitions._ Watch yourself if you tangle with 'em."

Eventually Maz summoned Obi-Wan to her office. The shielded box he'd built - mostly based on instructions in one of the books he'd swiped from Dooku, but with suggestions from Ulic and a small amount of trial and error - was rather nondescript in itself. The paired kyber crystals, acquired from a dealer on Christophsis, were installed in closed power units on either side of the durasteel cube, keeping a perpetual current running around the contacts within the box. Obi-Wan could barely feel Adas' presence holding it in his hands; the shielding would keep the ancient Sith Lord's power contained until the power units expired or the crystals wore out. A kyber crystal in a lightsaber was at no risk of failing, but those weren't under continuous charge with a Sith holocron fighting them.

He placed the box carefully into the satchel he'd brought for it. "Thanks for keeping an eye on this, Maz. I felt bad leaving it here, but-"

"Nonsense." She waved him off cheerfully. "With proper shielding, he's been an annoyed but quiet houseguest. And you're right: something like that should not be stored on a ship. Too much can go wrong, and you'd never know if he-" Maz poked the bag- "was responsible for your misfortune. But I want to see this farm of yours, Scogar. I'll drop in sometime when you're around, yes?"

He grinned and leaned in to kiss her on the cheek. "Give us a year or two, Maz, and we'll even have some wine to share with you."

"Well, now you're just raising my expectations." Maz saw him out with a parting, "Give your boyfriend my regards. And tell him to visit, it's been too long."

* * *

_Reformation Year 981.05.03  
Mandalore_

Jango couldn't say whether he or Boba was more anticipating this trip. Boba had been promised a chance to see a real _vhett,_ while Jango… Jango was starting to understand why the trainers were going stir-crazy. For the first time he had something to look forward to that wasn't on Kamino, and it was like an itch under his skin, _knowing_ there was something more.

His son was openly distressed that they had to go through Keldabe first, but Jango had messages to deliver, some of which were semi-urgent. He felt bad about having to read the trainers' mail, but there were definite security concerns - the trainers couldn't share details of their work.

And then there were Reau and Priest. He'd hired them for their skills, back when their allegiance to _Kyr'tsad_ didn't bother him - because why would it? Jango had been more focused on revenge against the Jedi; he'd seen that business on Galidraan as the Jedi merely using an excuse to put some Mando'adë down. But after what Scogar had said about _Kyr'tsad'_s involvement, the only reason he kept them in the roster - in a reduced capacity - was for the sake of opsec. _Their_ messages, he ran through a decryptor, just to be sure.

Better the enemy you can see than the one you can't, and all that.

He only made a fast stop in Keldabe to drop the messages off with Midha - the _goran_ was a good midpoint contact - and pick up a few things before letting an impatient Boba drag him back onto the ship. His son was going to sleep soundly that night: he'd been too excited and wound up to rest during the last shipboard night cycle.

The _Sunflare_ already occupied one of the three landing platforms; a slick _Aka'jor_ shuttle painted in Clan Cadera's green and yellow perched on another. Trainers, most likely, considering what Scogar had last told him about teaching his clan to fight. Jango set the _Slave I_ down on the remaining platform. "Don't forget your bag, Boba."

"Oh, right!" Boba's little boots thudded hard on the deckplates as he ran back to his bunk. They were planet-side, and Jango had no intention of spending the nights in his ship.

Boba pressed his face against the transparisteel of the lift on the way down. "It's so green!"

The raised circle of the compound was too regular to blend into the surrounding fields - which were in the process of being transformed into hex grids of multi-layered crops. Scogar had either done a _lot_ of research, or asked Rakka's people for advice. The young orchards were swarming with people busily staking the twiggy trees or planting gourds near their bases; the gourds would keep parasite plants at bay and the fruit trees would provide the shade the gourds needed, even in their current young stage. Beyond the _vhett,_ the vineyards had already been trellised; Scogar had definitely taken Rakka's advice about wine. They had enough time left in the season to raise a small harvest of _ciryc'papuur_ which could be processed and set in to ferment over the winter. Towards the far side of the crater bowl, the glossy cloud of silver-leafed galek trees rippled like water in the breeze.

The lift door slid upwards to reveal Scogar and Zohli waiting for them. Boba shrieked with joy and threw himself at Scogar's knees; Scogar caught him and scooped him up for a hug, laughing.

Jango stood back for a moment. Scogar had definitely been out in the sun - any burning his fair skin might have suffered had already mellowed into a tan and freckles everywhere, and his hair had lightened to a warm brass. The weather was mild, but he'd clearly been working, the top of his grey coverall twisted and wrapped at his hips to reveal the sleeveless green shirt underneath. Green really did suit him, and Jango tucked the thought away for later.

Zoh gave Jango a knowing grin. "Want me to get your stuff put away?"

"In a minute." He hesitated, then opened his arms. "C'mere?"

The teen's grin was brilliant as she darted forward for the hug he was offering. It felt both strange and right at the same time - Scogar and Zohli were a matched set, after all. He couldn't have one without the other, and Jango wouldn't have had it any other way. Time spent working outdoors had been good for Zohli, too: her fur was glossy, and someone had threaded turquoise-blue beads through her braids. She'd put on muscle, too; he could _feel_ it when she squeezed around his ribs before backing away.

"C'mon, Boba, lemme show you all the _cool_ stuff," Zoh said as she took Jango's bag. "Have you ever seen a chicken?" Boba grabbed her hand and they skipped down the path toward the _vhett._

Jango watched them go, shaking his head and trying to ignore the blush of warmth in his chest. Scogar chuckled.

"This is all new for Zoh, too. The day the animals were delivered, she just couldn't get enough of them." He grinned. "And the three nearest _vhettë_ all have at least one recent litter of strill, so we'll have herding and hunting secure as soon as the pups are trained, a few months to a year from now."

The thought of Scogar dealing with strill pups - with their uncoordinated six legs flailing, trying to snuffle and slobber on any part of their favourite person they could reach - made Jango laugh. "How many?"

"We requested one pup from each litter, so we won't have to worry about inbreeding issues, six total." He shrugged, a little self-consciously. "It seemed a good idea at the time…"

"No, it _is_ a good idea. I never had to set up a _vhett,_ myself, but I remember how my parents managed it." He pushed away the memories, the old, jarring horror that the family strills had been the first thing _Kyr'tsad_ would have taken out.

Scogar was studying him with a little smile; neither of them had moved, and it felt… inappropriate to do so.

At least, it did until Scogar murmured, "Do you intend to keep standing there smiling at me, or will you come kiss me?"

Jango cleared his throat. "I'm enjoying the view." It was a really nice view.

"Are you?" A slow grin spread across Scogar's face and he moved in, one hand cupping behind Jango's neck as he pulled him in for a kiss. That weird tension broke and Jango sighed, leaning into it; his arms ended up around Scogar's ribs, dragging his partner in tight against his chest. It was still a little more chaste than he would have liked, but they were standing out in the open with dozens of people able to see them on the ridge.

Eventually they parted, just far enough to rest their foreheads together. Jango whispered, _"Ni ru'aala'solus ures'gar."_

Scogar nuzzled their noses together and replied, _"Ni kar'tayl. Ni ru'copad gar'tomë."_

His Mando'a was improving, and Jango kissed him once more on the lips, before stepping back. He caught Scogar's hand. "Well, are you gonna show me your new home?"

The extent to which Scogar had gone to ensure the settlement could be on its feet quickly was immediately apparent, from the young saplings in the orchard to the vine cuttings they were using to jump-start the vineyard. Seeds and sprouts were a good deal cheaper but would take longer to produce enough to sustain the _vhett,_ and Jango was willing to bet Scogar had massively depleted his savings. The man was going to have to start really taking work again, and soon.

The entry into the _vhett_ was an immense ten metres wide, but still long enough to feel claustrophobic. It sloped down into the courtyard, and Jango couldn't help but notice that there were no accessible windows at eye level. If anyone broke in via ground unannounced, it would be a complete slaughter. He thumped the side of his fist experimentally against the wall, and Scogar grinned. "They're two metres thick here, with a layer of EM shielding. We could drop grenades and it wouldn't damage the structure."

The odds of a _vhett_ coming under assault, in this day, were slim to none, but Mandalorians still built fortresses just in case. A structure like this could last a thousand years or more, given proper care, and a lot could change in just a few centuries.

In the courtyard, three _verdë_ from Clan Cadera were leading groups of ten through different types of training. One group was learning to care for and maintain various types of weaponry - Jango couldn't see any targeting ranges, so they had likely started with familiarising people with weapons before letting them shoot anything. A second group was going through some basic _ut'reeyah'gaan_, and the third was sat in a semicircle while their trainer - Jango thought it might be _aliit'alor_ Trace Cadera, but if so, she'd got a dramatically different haircut - talked them through the symbolism inherent in _beskar'gam._

There was more than enough space in the courtyard circle for all of them, even with a herd of six-legged primmuy grazing at racks of _kara'gemas_ blossoms near the entrance. The metre-tall ruminants were native to Mandalore, so easy to keep and so entirely useful from horns to hooves that they were literally called 'useful' in Mando'a. Jango snagged a stray _kara'gemas_ from where it had fallen, the fluffy, yellow-orange strands of petals that gave the flower its name trailing in the breeze. On a playful whim, he tucked the stem through his partner's warrior's knot. Scogar paused and reached up to check what Jango had done, casting a suspicious glare in his direction.

"What-?"

Leaning over, Jango dropped a kiss on his cheek. "Almost matches your hair, _cyar'ika."_

"Oh, no. I've been be-flowered," Scogar declared dryly.

"Happens often, does it?"

"We have over thirty children who had never seen flowers other than the toxic blooms that grow on Nal Hutta. The novelty has yet to wear off." Scogar grinned. "Guaranteed someone will make you a flower crown before you leave."

The curve of the two balcony levels, all the way around, was covered in a hanging mesh of plant pots and interconnected tubes; most of the pots already bristled with tufted greenery. "We were originally going to have the herb garden hang all the way to the ground," Scogar explained, "but the primmuy were too interested in them."

"Yeah, they'll eat anything within reach." Jango paused beside the cistern, looking up at the broad opening overhead. "You considered aerial security, I hope? The courtyard is wide for a reason, but it's also a defensive hole."

Scogar knocked on the heavy, closed lid of the cistern. "Shield generator."

"You're kriffing kidding me."

The younger man shook his head, looking pleased. "The controls are inside," he pointed to the _vhett'_s open double doors opposite the entrance ramp, "but the dome this projects is just large enough to cover the compound. There's three dedicated backup generators in addition to the primary. The down-side is that, once it goes up, nothing gets out, either, but we can withstand a siege. There's a secret underground exit if we ever _really_ need it."

Jango grinned. "The cave system?"

"Of course." Scogar rolled his eyes, an amused grin bringing out the dimples in his cheeks. "I highly doubt we'll ever need the defenses, but everyone insisted on doing it properly."

"Better to have it and not need it, than need it and not have it." Jango tugged him in for another kiss, overwhelmed with admiration at the lengths Scogar was going to. When he leaned back, he murmured, "I remember when you told me you have no past and barely any future. Scogar- _Obi-Wan,"_ he amended, because the doubts he'd been privy to were something Scogar Bastra would never admit, _"this_ is your future. You did this."

Scogar's mouth opened and Jango pressed his finger to the man's lips. "No, shh, I _know_ others helped you. But you could have freed people and sent them to your friend on Alderaan, and washed your hands of the matter. Instead you put effort into _building_ something, something new. Something that will last. You _have_ a future. You just needed to make it for yourself."

His partner smiled softly and leaned into his hands, pressing their foreheads together again. _"Vor entyë, cyarë."_

_"N'entye,"_ Jango whispered back.

Someone cleared their throat politely, and Scogar breathed, _"Oh, fuck,"_ so softly only Jango could have heard it. They looked over to see Ruuli, Qiiun, and a few other _aliit_ looking at them with patient yet predatory smiles.

Qiiun's proboscis crinked in good humour. [[We unfortunately didn't have much chance to speak last time, Mand'alor. But, Mand'alor or not, we would be remiss if we didn't make certain Scogar's partner is a good fit for him and a wise choice for the clan.]]

Jaw hanging loosely, Jango stared at the group of them, then back at Scogar, who had his lips pressed in a thin line, clearly trying to beat a smile back. The younger man cleared his own throat and asked, "Right now?"

"Best to get it out of the way quickly, yes?" Ruuli said reasonably, but there was a wicked glint in her eye that Jango didn't trust _at all._

He sighed and gave Scogar a grin. "I'm sure it'll be fine." Scogar's new family was just teasing them; he should probably get used to it. He kissed Scogar lightly on the lips. _"Tion'ni cuy'tayli?"_

Scogar laughed and caught his hand. _"Shi dush'kara, tion'mird?"_

* * *

Midha scratched the top of her shop aylik's head, the little feline pest control specialist draped indulgently around the back of her neck and rumbling with contentment. She and Sikkah kept three of them - the long-bodied, speedy things were the natural choice for catching vhe'viin in places where a strill's brand of chaos would cause problems - but this one, an aging queen with violet spots marking her creamy coat whom they'd named Scamp, was Midha's favourite.

"Let's see what news _buir_ sent us, hmm?" Waiting all day to play the messages Sikkaah had sent via the Mand'alor always tried her patience, but it was worth it to be settled in her favourite stuffed chair with an aylik for company and a glass of _tihaar_ to hand. Almost felt like sharing news at the end of a long, long day.

Her wife had already been gone for three years on a mysterious contract Jango had offered. The incredible amount of credits he'd offered was more than enough for them to accept that, whatever Sikkaah was up to, she wouldn't tell any of it. But that didn't stop her from venting about others who were also involved. Midha chuckled as Sikkah's holo ranted for fifteen minutes about Isabet Reau and her attempts to enforce a social hierarchy of some sort among the female-identified Mando'dë.

_"-It's like that time we had to deal with Sing. Remember that? 'I call the shots here,' blah blah. The only person we answer to is Jango, right? Cort or Kal, if he's unavailable. But no! She was so furious that I'd been named a point of contact - I wasn't even in the room when that happened, Cort just told me later - and got all up in my hair about undercutting her authority or some osik."_ Sikkaah's holo scowled fiercely. _"When this is over, I'm stringing her up by her ankles over the side of the landing platform."_

Snorting, Midha muttered, "Wonder what Jango was thinking, bringing her in. _Kyr'tsad_ always draws the ones with archaic notions."

It took over an hour to get through all the messages - Sikkaah tried to record one at least every second day cycle, and it was like listening to a journal. Then she got to the last one, and while the content wasn't any different from the usual, Midha spotted something that made her lean forward, upsetting Scamp, and restart the message.

She wasn't seeing things: Sikkaah was using the hand signals they'd devised decades before, when they were both still spitfire _verd'ikë_ terrorising their _ruus'alorë._ It took replaying the message three times before Midha caught the entire thing; when she had the whole thing written out on flimsi, she laughed until tears rolled down her cheeks.

"Oh, _cyarë._ Only Kal is enough of a _shabuir_ to ask for something like that!"

* * *

_Karthakk_

Growling, Nym hauled the arc cutter out of storage. Trade Federation droid ships were easy to lock down, if you knew where they would be, but getting them open once they were dead in space was like convincing a Maramere clam to open: you needed a big fuckin' knife.

"Jinkins! They still playing quiet?"

_"Relax, I've got comms locked down tight."_

"You better not have your boots on the console again."

A muffled thump echoed over the intercom, the opposite of subtle. _"I would never."_

The hatch peeled open under the cutter's industrial laser and Nym kicked it through into the airlock, blaster aimed even as the pressure change made his aural organs ache. The two droids waiting on the other side went down, and he stormed through the ship blasting clankers off their feet. The Federation must have been confident about the security of the ship's cargo: Nym identified most of the droids as older-model B1s. Guess they had to be used somewhere.

He cleared the corridors from engine room to bridge and pulled his personal comm. "It's safe now," he announced sarcastically, and heard Jinkins blow a particularly Bithy insult at him from the other end.

It was a slave ship, because of course it was. The Trade Federation kept trying to slip them past Nym and his crew. This one might have made it if he and Jinkins hadn't needed to stop by Grovlokk's place on Maramere. They weren't exactly equipped to handle the cargo, but they were still in shouting range and Grov wouldn't mind.

"Let's see who we've got here, then." Nym sliced the lock into the cargo. It was never pleasant, whatever the situation.

He wasn't prepared to find twenty adult sentients, mostly humanoid, wearing simple, shabby robes and huddled together, shaking as if from spice withdrawal.

One of them, a gaunt Bothan whose fur was patchy with some sort of infection, saw them and threw himself forward in supplication. "Please, kind sirs. Please take us back!"

It was a real challenge not to scowl; Nym went to one knee so he wasn't looming over them. "We'll get you all home in no time, promise."

"No!" A skinny human of indeterminate gender with their hair shaved to fuzz attempted to stand despite the shakes. "Home is forsaken. We're pilgrims, sir, following The One and The All. We must return to our people. It's been so long since we had Exultation!"

A chill ran down Nym's spine. "They raided a religious cult?"

"It's more than a _cult,"_ the human said, as if Nym was an idiot. "It's _The One and The All."_ Several of the others bobbed their heads with murmurs of agreement.

"When we received our breakfast three days ago, they gave us new work orders," the Bothan explained. "When we got there, the droids put us on the ship. It must have been a mistake! We want to go back to Ylesia. Will you help us?"

Nym exchanged a long look with Jinkins. He had a bad feeling about this.

* * *

.

* * *

**Mando'a:**

_dush'aalarë_ \- "bad feelings"  
_vercopaani'vaar_ \- "New Hope"  
_ni ru'aala'solus ures'gar_ \- "I missed you" (lit. "I felt alone without you")  
_ni kar'tayl_ \- "I know"  
_ni ru'copad gar'tomë_ \- "I missed you" (lit. "I longed for your company")  
_ut'reeyah'gaan_ \- "empty hand", a basic form of Mandalorian martial arts  
_primmuy_ \- "useful"; basically six-legged Angora goats native to Mandalore [author creation]  
_kara'gemas_ \- "sun's hair", like a very fluffy dandelion [author creation]  
_vor entyë_ \- "thank you" (lit. "I acknowledge a debt")  
_n'entyë_ \- "it's nothing" (lit. "you owe nothing")  
_Tion'ni cuy'tayli?_ \- "what did I do to deserve you?"  
_Shi dush'kara, tion'mird?_ \- "just unlucky, I guess?" (teasingly)  
_aylik_ \- six-legged cross between a cat and a ferret native to Mandalore [author creation]  
_vhe'viin_ \- small rodent native to Mandalore  
_tihaar_ \- colourless triple-distilled spirit made from various local fruit  
_ruus'alorë_ \- "sergeants"; trainers  
_shabuir -_ "asshole"


	10. Chapter 10: Sigils

_Reformation Year 981.05.03  
Chalacta_

If there was one thing to be said for the Jedi Council, it was that they worked fast, and when it was important, they made sure _everyone_ knew what was going on. Feemor parsed through the report - it was massive - regarding matters of perceived injustice within the Order's main Temple on Coruscant.

Unreasonable expectations for Initiates. Automatic rejection of Initiates who had come of age without consulting either the Force or other Temples for unconventional suitability matches. Sending Jedi on missions with too little information and insufficient support. Reduced contact with outlying Temples, increasing insularity, and increasing orthodoxy; the latter was named as the culprit in the development of an environment that many found hostile and uncompromising.

Well. None of that was exactly untrue. Feemor remembered what had happened to his former brother-padawans - both of them, Xanatos _and_ Obi-Wan - Falling to the Dark Side during missions the Council retroactively named their Trials of Knighthood.

Who even _did_ that? Feemor's own Trials had been announced to him ahead of time, it had been a grueling month of work involving settling a political dispute, writing several reports for his various instructors, and then enduring the Chambers of Trial. He'd come out sobbing but whole, and Qui-Gon had been so proud of Knighting him in front of the Council before being granted the title of Master.

What was going on that Padawans were being Tested in the equivalent of live fire exercises, and then thrown out with no option to improve when they failed? Well, Xanatos had outright left, and in disgust Qui-Gon had formally dismissed his success training _anyone._ It had stung, and Feemor had felt guilty for being glad he hadn't offered his severed braid to the man - like many new Knights, Feemor had kept it, with its long list of accomplishments marked in beads and coloured thread.

Obi-Wan, though…. Feemor had quietly kept tabs on his younger brother-Padawan - not to an invasive extent, but out of concern for his well-being. Qui-Gon had long refused to take another Padawan, and Feemor had always suspected some level of Council interference in his match with Kenobi. Obi-Wan had Fallen, but unlike Xanatos he had returned with Qui-Gon, isolated himself, and expressed remorse. Rather than being offered healing and a chance to prove himself, he'd been thrown out alone into the wider galaxy.

And then Qui-Gon had immediately taken a new Padawan. It made Feemor want to punch the taller man for his insensitivity.

But Xanatos and Obi-Wan were only two of a growing list of Padawans who were given little preparation and failing their _field-based_ Trials, sometimes fatally. The report included a gallingly long list of names and their fates - or presumed fates, as some had simply vanished. It was starting to look like the Council was setting their prospective Knights up for failure. Something had changed in the last thirty years since Feemor's Knighting, and not for the better.

And this was why four Jedi - Feemor, Master J'kimi, and Knight Saiaa-Den and her Padawan - had been sent to the Temple on Chalacta in an effort to mend fraying ties with the more contemplative branch of the Order. It seemed to be going well so far, but the Jedi who had been chosen by the Council were known for their rather less than conservative stances. Someone like Master C'baoth would have been picking fights already.

The guest quarters they had been offered were small, with a limited kitchenette that was really only good for storing a few non-perishables and making tea; the refectory down the hall was well-stocked and offered supplies to make small meals at all hours. The furniture, like everywhere else on Chalacta, was low to the floor, and the sleeping mat folded neatly during the day into a comfortable lounger. The walls were paneled in stretched fabric which had been painted with pleasing environmental scenes, and the outer wall was made of sliding wooden panels that were generally left open during the day, allowing access to a covered balcony and the cool breezes accompanying the daily rainfall. It was very different from Coruscant, but in a pleasant way, and Feemor wondered if the Temples might be amenable to a longer-term cultural exchange.

He really just wanted to bring one of the floor cushions back with him. Whatever they were using for padding was much more comfortable than the material the Coruscant Temple synthesised. Fifty-four wasn't even middle-aged by human standards, but sometimes his rebuilt left knee reminded him of every one of those years.

The door chimed softly; he didn't recognize the person outside, but they had the frenetic, dancing energy of a Temple Initiate on duty. The Rodian girl, dressed in a translucent blue tabard over Initiates' whites, bowed deeply when Feemor opened the door.

"Pardon the interruption please, Master, but the Chief Healer needs to speak with you. She said it was urgent."

"Did I miss an appointment?" he teased, and her violet eyes brightened with humour.

"I don't think so? We just took in some refugees, maybe it's about one of them."

Feemor took a step back to grab his boots from the rack by the door and pull them on. "I'm nothing like a healer, but Master Kalanna knows that. We'll see when we get there, yes?"

The Chagrian healer smiled with relief when the Initiate led him in. "Thank you for coming so quickly, Master Okarr."

He returned the smile and followed her through a series of thin blue curtains that muffled sound and offered privacy. The corridor on the other side had more of the curtains, pushed back and drifting slightly in the air currents. "I'm not sure what the circumstances are, but I'll help if I can."

There was a quivering tension in Kalanna's lethorns that warned him this was going to be unpleasant. "Being so close to Hutt space, we often take in slaves who have been freed who are in desperate need of healing. Or in this case, slaves who have escaped." She glanced over her shoulder at him. "This one knew to come to us. They said they were a Jedi at the Coruscant Temple."

Feemor hissed through his teeth. "How did they end up out there? _Where_ were they?"

"Kessel, but they haven't said much more than that. We kept them sedated for a while, they just woke up." Kalanna stopped him at a door. "I know it's unlikely you'll know them, but we felt the Coruscant Temple should be aware that one of yours is not lost."

Despite steeling his nerves for the worst, Feemor was still shocked at the wasted figure on the bed; the upper part had been raised so they could sit up, but the Iridonian was clearly in no shape for anything more strenuous than cradling a lidded mug of tea against their breastbone. Nearly all of their horns were splitting and craggy from malnourishment or sickness. Their eyes, despite the bruised circles surrounding them, were clear, and they blinked curiously at the Healer.

"For a while, I was afraid I was hallucinating again, but this is real, isn't it?" they rasped, and Kalanna nodded as she detached the datapad from its hook on the wall.

"You're safe on Chalacta. Unfortunately, you were nearly incoherent when you were brought in. Could you tell us your name, please?"

"Hautha. Lamith Hautha."

The Healer got them to spell the name out for their records while Feemor quietly parsed the currents in the Force. He frowned. Hautha seemed relatively young despite their physical condition, possibly less than half his age. It seemed unlikely that Hautha had been knighted and then ended up in such a dire situation.

"You told the planetary defense patrol that you were a Jedi?" Kalanna was saying, and Feemor pulled his mind back to the present.

Hautha flushed. "Not for a long time, but I wanted to make sure they brought me here instead of the public med centre." They hid their face behind their mug, drinking tea in an effort to cover their shame at the deception. The Force confirmed the truth of both statements: Hautha had been trained, several years prior, and the Force knew its own. Soothing currents wound around the young Zabrak, offering healing energy, but they refused to reach for it.

Whatever Kalanna thought of their circumstances, she kept it to herself. "Well, it's fortunate that they listened to you. You were in the middle of a glitterstim withdrawal, and that could easily have been fatal for a Force sensitive without proper care. Do you know how long you were held there?"

Their brow creased, drawing a new pattern among their tattoos. "Three years? No, wait. I was sent to Bandomeer at thirteen, I stayed until I couldn't stand it any longer and hitched a ride with a freight hauler. I was… seventeen? I couldn't figure out what to do with myself, but I heard about a commune for people seeking a fresh start that sounded nice." They grimaced. "It wasn't nice. They brainwash everyone who goes there - everyone said it felt amazing but it just gave me a headache. When I tried to leave… they sent me to Kessel."

They were leaving out a _lot_ of details, but Kalanna didn't press. She handed the datapad to Feemor. "Well, if Master Okarr, here, can use his access to the Coruscant Temple databanks, we can find out how long you were gone."

Hautha's open expression shut down immediately. "You're from Coruscant?"

"Yes, on a partnership outreach," Feemor said, focusing on finding the right information. Technically only a Councilor should have remote access like this, but an exception had been made for Masters in the outreach group, given that so many Coruscant Jedi had been going missing. "There you are." Feemor passed the datapad back to Kalanna and folded his hands into his sleeves. "I can tell you had a bad experience as an Initiate. We're trying to fix that, but it's a bit late to undo the damage that was done. Would you consent to discuss it with me, sometime?"

"Depends," Hautha growled. "You gonna send me back to Bandomeer?"

Feemor's eyebrows arched despite his best efforts. "Stars, no. You're twenty-three; where you go once you're healed is entirely your choice."

They blinked, caught off-guard. "When did I turn twenty-three?"

"Two weeks and six days ago," Kalanna said briskly. "Once your system is ready to handle richer food again, we'll get you a starcake to celebrate."

Hautha pressed a shaking hand to their face. "I… okay."

They desperately needed to rest, and Feemor excused himself to let the Healer finish up. She emerged a few minutes later and led him back towards the front into her office before saying anything more.

"If I didn't know the issue had already been raised, I would have some strong words for you to pass on to your Council regarding the heedless dismissal of aged-out Initiates."

Feemor scowled. "And I would happily pass them on for you. Hautha isn't the only one I know of." He dismissed the memory of his former brother-Padawan again and leaned forward to rest his elbows on the edge of Kalanna's desk. "I have no intention of convincing Hautha to return to Coruscant, but firsthand testimony will go a long way with the committee once it's formed."

The Chief Healer nodded. "They expressed a willingness to speak with you, provided a Mind Healer is present as well-"

"I was about to recommend it." Having someone who was skilled at knowing when the trauma was too great to continue a conversation would be essential; Feemor had no desire to hurt the young Zabrak.

"Good." She made a note on her 'pad. "What concerns me the most is this commune they mentioned. A place that brainwashes people and sells objectors into slavery sounds like something which should be investigated."

"I'm hoping Hautha can provide more information on that," Feemor agreed. "The Council - _Councils,"_ he amended, "should be made aware of it, at the very least. If it's within Republic space, the Senate will need to get involved; if not, then it's up to the Order."

Regardless, some sorry bastard was likely going to be sent in to gather evidence, posing as a prospective pilgrim so as not to draw attention to the investigation. Jedi were not _spies;_ diplomats and advocates and scholars and _investigators,_ yes, but never _spies._ But with their abilities, Jedi were simply better suited to such a role than most. Feemor, diplomat that he was, had never been tapped for such a mission.

But there was a first time for everything.

* * *

_Reformation Year 981.05.04  
Coruscant_

The depths of the Jedi Temple on Coruscant were not to be explored lightly. Madame Nu had kept her guests to paths that had been triple-checked and guaranteed safe, but where Mace and Plo were headed was beyond the areas accessible to Jedi historians. Many of the doors in the unused sublevels were sealed tightly, requiring Council access and advanced Force techniques to bypass; most hadn't been opened in generations.

Or so they'd assumed.

Interestingly, it was Mace's new Padawan who had noticed it first. "Someone's been through here." Ferus crouched carefully, tilting his hand-lamp to show the contrast in the layers of dust on the floor. The prints were old, different from the meandering paths left by Jocasta and her guests, and led both to and from the ancient manual lift down to the Wellspring.

Leaning over his shoulder, Mace scowled. The idea of someone unauthorized accessing the Wellspring, or the Dark blot in its shadow, sent a curl of anger through him. The prints, now that he knew what to look for, angled directly across the wide chamber floor from a different entrance, not even slowing as they passed the tip of the Spire. This person had known where they were going, and had been through at least once before.

"When's the last time droids were sent down to clean?" Mace asked.

After a moment of checking the records, Plo answered, "Five Standard years ago."

"Right. While we're here, let's find out how they got in." If they were fortunate, it had merely been some older Master using a forgotten stairway from a different corner of the Temple.

The door seals always contained a list of previous access; he downloaded it to his datapad for later reference after opening the seal. Behind them, Plo hummed thoughtfully through his mask. "Would it be wise to send cleaner droids through here once we're done?"

"I'm not sure cleaning the dust would help at this point," Mace said.

"Oh, I was rather thinking that if the owner of those footprints returns, they won't notice that we were here."

Master and Padawan turned to look at him, but the Kel Dor Jedi was already moving up the hall. Mace and Ferus exchanged a glance - Ferus was wide-eyed and Mace could feel a thin frisson of fear running through him. He nodded and made a note on his datapad. "I want to know where this person came from, how they got in here. Would you mind, Ferus? Younger eyes are clearly better in the dark," he said with just enough of a smile for his Padawan to know he could refuse.

Of course the teen didn't, tilting his lamp this way and that to pick out the shadow of human-sized boot-prints. "This way, Master."

Nearly everything in the older parts of the Temple had been cleared out - tapestries reserved for museums, removable decorative elements preserved and re-used in reconstruction, personal effects claimed or moved to historical collections in the Archives. The present Temple building sat atop an older structure that had been bombed in a war a thousand years ago; that building had been constructed over the shattered shell that had remained after the Sacking of Coruscant by the Sith Empire twenty-six hundred years before that. Mace, Plo, and Ferus were currently walking on tiles over five thousand years old, the colours still bright through the layers of dust.

The prints appeared to vanish through a solid wall, but the movement of air suggested all was not as it seemed. Mace ran his hand over the rough surface: finding the shatter point of an illusion was different from finding the shatter point of an object. "I can take it down, but then whoever it was will _know_ we were here."

"We can't just walk through it?" Ferus asked. Mace slapped the illusion - which was _very_ solid. His padawan frowned. "But the air is moving through it. And if our eyes can deceive us, why not our other senses?" He closed his eyes, reached forward-

Ferus' hand passed through the illusion like it wasn't even there. He pulled it back quickly and blinked up at his openly astonished Master. "You just have to kind of… make yourself forget the illusion is there? I bet a droid would go straight through it. I don't know what might happen if you lose focus partway, though, so we should be careful."

It took several minutes of testing before all three of them were able to slip through the false wall; Mace had the hardest time, possibly because it required thinking about the world in a different way than he was accustomed to. He hesitated, then ruffled Ferus' brown hair; demonstrating affection didn't come naturally to Mace, but his Padawan responded well to it and it was worth making the effort.

"That was smart."

Ferus blushed a little. "A little sideways thinking never hurts, right Master?"

The footprints ended at an open hatch that was definitely meant to be sealed; Plo had his datapad out searching through ancient blueprints to determine where the darkened passage beyond led.

"This appears to connect to the Works; it's a maintenance corridor housing conduits exclusively for the Temple. Long gone out of use, of course," Plo mused. "The Temple has its own generator now."

"Put a work order in to send cleaning droids around this level," Mace requested. Their footprints stood out clearly in the dust. "And make a note to send a team down to check the corridor. There's all sorts of nasty things living in the Works; I don't want any groups smaller than six down there, and no Padawans." He rested a hand on Ferus' shoulder to quell his Padawan's quiet surge of displeasure. "When I say nasty things, I mean rogue droids and hostile wildlife, never mind potential toxic gas, radiation leaks, and corrosive chemicals. I wouldn't risk anyone who isn't a legal adult down there."

"Duly noted," Plo said. "There's little more to be done here. Shall we see about the hidden Darkness Jocasta's friend noticed?"

Mace and Plo had both visited the Wellspring before, but it was a new sight to Ferus. He stood in awe of the streaming Light while the two Masters searched the walls for the concealed door. The archway, when they found it, appeared to have been sealed with a later layer of masonry.

"What do you think?" Mace asked. "Illusion or real?"

Plo reached forward slowly, and his palm stopped at the surface of the wall. "If it's an illusion, it's more complex than the one upstairs. It seems to be real."

Ferus joined them in seeking the concealed mechanism that might open the passage; Mace found it this time, inaccessible to anyone without fine control of the Force. The solid-looking masonry filling the arch swung outward into the room in three irregular pieces; someone had clearly put effort into making it difficult to find. Beyond, a set of stairs curved down into the darkness.

The moment Mace's foot touched the top step, a series of dim orange globes set into the tunnel's ceiling popped on, only just bright enough for them to see where they were going. The lack of good visibility made his eyes ache.

Ferus hesitated and then offered his hand lamp to Mace. "Do you want me to stay up here?"

That was a good question. With the door opened, the Darkness beyond had become noticeable even against the Wellspring's Light. Mace's protective instincts warred with the logic that Ferus was nearly eighteen and should be capable of taking care of himself. But this wasn't a test. "If you feel up to it, you can come with us. But if you start struggling - if you feel like _anything_ is wrong - tell me immediately."

His Padawan took a deep breath and nodded, his expression set in a determined frown. If Ferus handled this well, it might be time to start introducing him to Vaapad.

The further into the Spire they went, the stronger the Darkness grew. The idea that the Order had been sitting atop something like this for generations without a clue did not sit well with Mace. How had something like this been lost?

Or had it? Maybe this Shadow had begun to grow _after_ the Temple's establishment.

Most people assumed the Dark Side was an oppressive presence; that it would batter a person down and smother them, like drowning in a riptide. Through his own training in Vaapad, learning to control his own Darkness, Mace knew that to be a dangerously misleading apprehension. The Dark Side was seductive. It _lured_ one with the promise of more power, it offered everything one could desire like a royal feast. It was deceptive that way, for the more a person used the Dark Side, the more it claimed, feeding the smouldering embers of fear and paranoia into a roaring blaze. The first touch was free, and empowering, but the cost afterwards was immeasurable.

A Wellspring on its own was neither Dark nor Light: it simply _was,_ an indefinable balance point that was neither Light nor Dark, but could not be called Grey. Early Jedi had called that fulcrum _bendu._ The Wellspring below the Temple had shifted its alignment to the Light over aeons of exposure to the Jedi's practises around it. The Darkness below it had… _tapped_ the Wellspring at its source, like a parasitic vine on a tree. Mace could _feel_ it. It drew from the same arterial _bendu_ and warped what it claimed. What would happen if something caused it to push back against the current?

The bottom of the stairs - already ancient - opened onto an even older chamber in a terrible state of disrepair. Several columns, carved from the same black stone as the Spire, had been knocked down and that part of the ceiling had collapsed. Through the dust and grit on the floor, someone had swept a narrow footpath around the worst of the debris, revealing more of the glossy black stone. Across the smooth surface of the walls and columns, even the felled ones, red sigils seemed to gleam and ripple, as if reflecting flickering torchlight; when Mace tried to focus on the jagged, sinuous shapes, they faded from view, frustrating and enticing.

Something snagged the back of Mace's tunic and he turned to see Ferus with a fistful of fabric looking pale and wide-eyed, Plo just behind him with a concerned tilt to his head.

"There's no light source," Plo murmured quietly.

He was right: the entire hall was somehow diffusely lit from above, but there were no torches or lamps to be seen. At the far end, beyond the jumble of fallen pillars and shattered ceiling, an altar of some sort stood on the raised dais. Mace's own curiosity might have sent him stumbling into a trap.

Mace rested his hand on Ferus' shoulder. "What do you sense?"

"Master Ch'lui. If only I'd been _better,_ I could have saved her." His Padawan looked at the floor. "I don't know if I'm strong enough to save you, too."

Dragging Ferus in close, Mace hugged him tightly. "It's not your job to keep your Master safe. It's your Master's job to be self-aware enough to know when to ask for help, and who to seek it from. And to know when something is beyond their Padawan's ability to deal with." He placed his hands on Ferus' shoulders and leaned back to look him in the eye. "I will never ask more of you than I know you can handle. Understand?"

Ferus bit his lower lip, eyes dropping towards the floor. "But what if-"

"Are you a Healer?" Mace asked softly.

Ferus shook his head.

"Master Ch'lui had a genetic illness which, despite all our advances, is nearly impossible to treat. She knew this. She also knew that what treatments are available would have extended her life but at the cost of being debilitating. She wouldn't have been able to train you after a while, and you would have had to see her waste away over months or years from the effects of the treatments. Ch'lui made a difficult choice and decided that _you,_ Ferus-" Mace placed a finger under his Padawan's chin and gently urged him to look up again- "were more important. Was it fair to you? Emotionally, probably not. But you benefited from what she had to teach you. And without her choosing to train you, you would likely be with one of the Corps right now."

"Or with another Master."

There was an undercurrent of resentment in that statement, and oh, this was a _terrible_ place to have this conversation right now, but Ferus needed to logic through the Darkness of his grief on his own and this place had brought it out. "Would you have wanted a different Master?" Mace asked quietly, careful not to let any hint of judgment leak into his voice.

"I… no."

The boy had been eleven when Ch'lui had begged the Council for him. Several Knights had had their eye on Ferus' scores, but Ch'lui had seen what the others hadn't: that Ferus' accomplishments had come at the cost of his own well-being as he pushed himself harder than the rest of his peers. Her reasoning had been that someone less aware might expect more than Ferus could offer, and the boy would burn himself out trying to meet those standards. He still had a self-flagellating perfectionist streak, but Ch'lui's gentle touch had taught him to take time for himself; Mace had done what he could to inject rest time and fun into their schedule for Ferus' sake. The boy even had friends, and had been helping Asajj and Etain plan a party to celebrate their friend A'Sharad's Knighting. Ch'lui had left detailed notes on Ferus' issues and needs and progress, knowing she would likely not live to see him Knighted. It might not have been fair of her to keep him in the dark about her condition, but she hadn't wanted him to spend all his time worrying about her. _Death, yet the Force;_ Ch'lui had been fond of the older Code.

"Ch'lui _wanted_ you for her student, Ferus," Mace said, "even knowing how ill she was. Some might call it selfish, but she spent her last years passing on everything she knew to you. And she left behind some things for you, for when you feel you're ready. Your past was not a waste: it's a part of your future."

Something lit within Ferus' eyes; something like _hope._ "I never thought of it that way."

Mace glanced at Plo, who nodded after a moment's consideration. "Now that we know this place is here, and how to find it, we should arrange a full investigation. Perhaps with the aid of the Master of Shadows," Plo suggested.

It was a good idea. Mace squeezed Ferus' shoulders. "We can discuss things in more detail once we're back upstairs. Sound good?"

"Yeah!" Ferus glanced around the dark room and shivered. "I have a lot of questions."

"We'll see if I can answer them. And the ones I can't, we can figure out together."

Mace had left his comm off during their excursion - they all had, not wanting any distractions to put the three of them at risk - and when he checked it on the way back to their apartment, there was a brief text message waiting. "Why don't you get some tea started, Ferus? I need to follow up on this."

It didn't take long for his return call to be accepted. The hologram of a pale human Master a decade older than Mace, with long blond hair tied back in a loose braid, appeared in the projection field. Master Feemor bowed to him as soon as the connection was established.

_"Thank you for responding so quickly, Master Windu. We've encountered a situation here on Chalacta which concerns the Coruscant Temple."_ He quickly summarised the recovery of former Initiate Lamith Hautha - Mace recognised the name almost immediately - and sent along a file with more details. _"Hautha wishes to remain here on Chalacta for the time being, at least until they've healed sufficiently. What concerns us is their report of a contemplative retreat which sells its guests to the Pyke Syndicate. I would like to enter a request for someone to investigate the place, and shortly. If it's merely opportunistic staff, the management will want to know; if the whole place is a front…."_

"Then the sooner we act, the sooner we can find people who have already been sold, and prevent others from meeting the same fate," Mace agreed. He skimmed the report quickly, nodding thanks to Ferus as his Padawan brought a steaming mug of spiced tea over. "I will bring the matter before the Council, of course, but I can already tell you that they'll likely ask _you_ to go. Chalacta is days closer to Ylesia than Coruscant is. You should make preparations to leave as soon as possible."

The older man frowned. _"Are you sure? I'm a Consular, Mace, not a Guardian."_

Feemor always did downplay the fact that he'd been trained by one of the Order's most adept duellists. Mace nodded decisively. "I'm not sending you to pick a fight. That's Hutt space; Force suggestion is unlikely to be effective on most people you'll have to deal with, which means you'll need every advantage your silver tongue can get you. See if there's anyone from the Chalactan Order who would be willing to accompany you. I'll be surprised if there isn't."

_"I'm not a Shadow, either,"_ Feemor protested with a grimace.

That was a fair point. "I'll see if the Master of Shadows has someone in range who can back you up. You should receive a comm in a couple hours with the Council's decision."

Feemor's shoulders sagged for just a moment; it was a testament to how close he and Mace were as colleagues-approaching-friends that he allowed his emotions to show. _"We'll be standing by, Mace."_

The comm ended and Mace leaned back in his seat, cradling the warm mug in his hands. "Ferus, can you do me a favour and send a request for an emergency Council session as soon as possible? Append the file Master Okarr just sent."

"Sure." Ferus pulled the apartment comm unit around to where he was sitting. "Gonna be one of _those_ sessions, you think?"

Mace could name five Councilors who would get bogged down in the fact that a Jedi sent to the Corps hadn't stayed to do their duty to the Order. "Let's just say I'm not looking forward to this."

* * *

_Reformation Year 981.05.04  
Mandalore_

Obi-Wan held still with his arms obediently stretched to the sides, trying not to sway on his perch. Midha was good at her work, but she had little patience for people twitching during fittings, and he'd been jabbed more than once with a pin that he couldn't be certain was purely accidental.

Fortunately the _kutë_ \- the water-resistant bodysuit designed to fit beneath beskar'gam, laden with hidden wires and contact points to interlink the armour's circuitry - didn't need to be perfectly tailored. Midha was currently working on the fit of the cuirass and cursing under her breath as she gauged the weight distribution across his shoulders.

Risking her displeasure, Obi-Wan said, "I can't help but notice that this is styled differently from Jango's armour." The cuirass that Jango wore was anchored to a leatherette vest that buckled at the sides, while the sets Midha was crafting for Obi-Wan's clan were mounted on a short-sleeved armourweave jacket which supported more substantial pauldrons.

"I didn't make Jango's beskar'gam," she rasped with a quiet huff of laughter. "He's a dirty fighter up close, but his strength is in range. You - and your clan, don't think we don't know who's volunteered to train them - are stronger in melee. There may be a jetpack in your future, but you need the extra coverage." She tapped the underside of his left bicep, where the artery lay. "One good swipe with a _beskad_ there and you're bleeding out."

The thought of strapping a jetpack to his back made Obi-Wan blanch. "I think a jetpack would likely take the jacket with it and leave me on the ground."

She snorted and tugged something on his back that made him stagger a little. "If it comes to that, the jacket has straps that go around your upper thighs. Takes some practice getting used to fighting in full kit, you can't just tie yourself to a rocket and expect to not die." She grinned at him in the mirror and patted her solid midsection. "Gotta develop those core muscles first."

"And then some." The sheer mass of a small engine hanging off one's back would require a posture change, which would put strain on muscle groups that weren't accustomed to it. Already the weight of durasteel beskar'gam - despite being lighter than full _beskar_ \- was notably heavier than what he was accustomed to. He was going to have to put in a lot of time training in the armour to offset the difference.

"So…." Midha's voice dropped to a more private murmur. "Now that the Mand'alor is no longer watching you like a four-course meal, I have a proposition for you."

The kids had started getting restless - well, _Boba_ had been getting restless after Zoh's fitting was done - and Jango had offered to take them to get lunch. They would be gone for a while longer. Obi-Wan arched an eyebrow at the _goran._ "Is it an improper proposition?"

She leaned back to study him for a moment. "That depends on you. You know Jango's mysterious long-term contract, right? And the fact that he had to subcontract a bunch of fighters?" When he nodded - Jango had told him that much - Midha went back to her measuring and adjusting. "Seems Jango started a prank war to lighten the mood and get everyone on a more level field. One of his fighters - a real _shabuir_ who wants to spar with you, by the way - has an idea for pranking Jango. His idea was more about pranking you and saying Jango did it, but you strike me as the kind of kid who enjoys a good prank."

"I do love a good prank."

She chuckled. "So I thought maybe we can have some fun and get both him and Jango at the same time."

Obi-Wan grinned. "Oh I like the sound of that. What did you have in mind?"

She told him. It was _extremely_ improper.

He loved it.

* * *

In the last twenty-six hours, Jango had only gone a mere two without having at least one child clinging to his hands. Most of those children hadn't even been his, while Boba had run off to quickly make friends.

The kids of Clan Bastra had adapted quickly to their new freedom - assisted by _mirshë'urë_ from Keldabe who had offered to help the people adjust - and as soon as they'd seen Jango relaxed and in comfortable proximity to Scogar and Zohli, his personal space had been forfeit. Even in the middle of the night, he and Scogar had ended up with three _adiikë_ requesting cuddles when they were unable to sleep, and had awakened that morning in a pile of children.

He couldn't even remember the last time he had been able to sleep with that many relative strangers around him. It was the _vodyc,_ he supposed: the _jatnë manda_ of being folded into the larger family unit, even temporarily. The group of adults who had questioned Jango had quickly made it clear that they were merely satisfying their curiosity and easing a few concerns while teasing him and Scogar about their association.

_"How did you meet each other?"_

Jango had looked Scogar straight in the face and said, _"He helped me deescalate a situation while I was on a job,"_ and the other man had immediately started giggling.

_"And you were so irritated about it, too."_

_"After that, he just kept appearing in my life when I least wanted him to. Or anyone, for that matter,"_ Jango had snarked back, and Scogar had winked. He was probably also remembering _Ki'an Tol_ station.

Jango still had the ridiculous, ritzy outfit he'd had to buy, stored carefully in a cupboard on the _Slave I._ You never knew when you'd have to impress someone. He'd hated the idea of being recognised wearing something like that, and been furious that it had been _Scogar,_ of all people, who'd caught him out of armour. His partner's visible appreciation for the look had only incensed Jango further at the time, but he could now admit that he'd felt… _flattered_ by the other man's attention. Kriff, he wasn't used to feeling like that. People saw his armour as a challenge, or something to fulfill a kink, and never looked beyond it; being looked at as a _person_ had been something he hadn't known how to respond to.

_[[It's quite a shift to go from disliking someone to being their partner,]]_ Qiiun had said, and both Jango and Scogar had stuttered denials.

_"Well, we're not really-"_

_"We haven't decided-"_

Ruuli, Qiiun, and the other two - a twi'lek woman named Reish'ia and a male Devaronian with broken horns who gave his name as Pynn - had given them bemused stares as Scogar gestured for Jango to speak. It was a relief to know he was on the same page as Jango. _"It's not like we're officially dating or anything,"_ Jango had said, and the _aliit_ had looked at each other.

_"So… you're not opposed to Scogar seeing someone else?"_ Reish'ia had asked neutrally, and the thought had kicked Jango in the gut. He would never stop Scogar from living his own life, no… but the thought of sharing Scogar's attentions with someone else caused an unexpected pain in his chest. A glance at Scogar showed that the other man found the idea equally upsetting.

_"If that was ever in question, we would discuss it together before bringing anyone else in."_ Scogar's answer settled the hurt a little. Mando'adë culture being what it was, long periods of separation were common; partners with semi-open relationships with others weren't considered unusual or deviant, merely practical. Jango had nodded firmly in response to Scogar's glance.

The others had exchanged looks again, and Jango could kind of understand their amusement: it might seem like he and Scogar had something more… official between them, but even the most casual of acquaintances relied on good communication. Jango might go so far as to call what they had a close friendship.

Close enough that Jango had woken up with his head on Scogar's shoulder and half a dozen kids snuggled around them on the communal sleeping mats. He really hadn't wanted to move that morning, especially not with Scogar's fingers running through Jango's hair.

Getting up had been worth it, though. Seeing Zohli get her beskar'gam, even if it was durasteel, and watching the teenager's face light up had been worth it. She'd had the plates painted the same turquoise-blue she favoured, with detailing in a golden orange. They were good colours. The blend of blue and green suggested trustworthiness, while the orange suggested living well as the best form of revenge: a young fighter who had been wronged in the past but chose to rise above pettiness. Her _kutë,_ like her father's, was basic black; she'd had the _Sunflare'_s jagged circle emblazoned on her right pauldron in the same orange gold, while the mythosaur skull decorated the left in silver - _kar'sal,_ the colour of the stars, indicating a connection to the Mandalorian soul. Jango hadn't even suggested that one - it was all Zoh.

Boba had been fascinated initially during Zohli's final fitting, but towards the end had been getting fidgety; once Midha declared her satisfaction with the suit and finalised the work, Jango had offered to take them for lunch while Scogar took his turn being fussed over. A short walk was the best way to get accustomed to the new heft of full armour, but he also caught Zoh preening in her reflection in shop windows. It was adorable.

"Once we get home, I'll help you set up your HUD," he offered. They'd left her new _buy'ce_ \- specially shaped and wired for her large, feline ears - back at the shop, because messing with the electronics would likely take hours, and looking out through the standard-pattern visor was awkward without practice.

Zoh arched an eyebrow at him and slurped a sphere of flavoured jelly through the oversized straw jammed into her purple drink. Jango failed to see the appeal of the sweetened fruit concoctions, but the kids loved them; Boba was half covered in his as he tried to fish the jelly spheres out with his hand. "You don't have to, you know. _At'tha,_ Feid, Pulkka, or Dee could help me, too."

"Maybe. But I want to, if you'll let me." It almost felt like a duty, helping his partner's daughter adapt her armour.

She considered it a moment before giving him a sly grin. "I bet you could show me all sorts of tricks to get better performance out of the onboard display."

The warm rush of pride made Jango feel a little guilty: she wasn't _his_ daughter, after all. Scogar had taught her to gauge her advantages well. "Of course I could."

"Then I'd welcome your assistance."

"Oh, listen to you. You sound like your dad," Jango teased, ruffling the auburn curls she'd let hang loose since arriving on Mandalore. Zoh giggled and ducked away.

"He's been bringing me along on business negotiations," she explained, wrinkling her nose. "Speaking of business, I thought we'd be going back to Midha's?"

"Gotta pick something up first." Jango wasn't exactly nervous about this, so much as he was uncertain how Scogar would react.

Neve eyed Boba as they entered the _T'adyc Yaim._ "Did you actually drink any of that, _ad'ika,_ or just paint your face with it?" Boba cackled gleefully, his cheeks and hands smeared with pale green fruit.

Shaking his head, Jango admitted, "If we stopped every time he decided the straw was too much work, we'd still be at the _cavhë'yaim_."

The bartender sighed and handed him a damp cloth. "I know green is his favourite colour, but maybe convince him to try something he likes the taste of, too. Is this a social visit or are you just here to collect?" She grinned and accepted the hug Zohli offered.

Jango hunkered down to wipe his son's face clean. "Just collect, today. They're still setting up the _vhetin,_ but Midha said their armour was ready."

Neve ran an appraising eye over Zoh's gear. _"An'gaidë,_ huh? Your _buir'_s serious about teaching you."

Zoh sighed. "The, um, _baar'ur_ said I'm not likely to grow much taller, so I'm not going to need a new set later." Condemned to a lifetime of shortness; Jango could sympathise.

"I like the colours. Do you know what your _buir_ is getting?"

"No, but he's getting the same emblems." Zohli ran her hand over the starburst on her right pauldron.

Neve traced the half-circle with its stylized rays with interest. "Is this going to be your _aliik?"_

Zoh frowned thoughtfully. "I don't know… it's a little untraditional, isn't it?"

"It's abstract, but that's not uncommon," Jango said. "It's definitely not going to be confused for some other clan's sigil."

_"At'tha_ might have a different idea… although then we'd have to get more added, wouldn't we?" She twitched her ears at Jango, the tips pricked forward in an expression he had learned meant intense curiosity. "So what are we here for?"

Neve went back around the bar and into the kitchen; when she emerged, she was holding a thin, curved object the length of Jango's arm in an unbleached fabric wrap. "I was right about it being chipped, took Karlen a bit of work to remove it."

With a tight smile, Jango accepted it. "Much obliged, tell _kaysh_ I owe a favour for it."

"Bantha piss, you don't owe shit," Neve said cheerfully. "But we all want to know if he'll accept it."

Zoh squinted at the object. "Is that what I think it is?"

"Probably." Jango tucked it up under his left arm and caught Boba's now-clean hand with his right. "Let's go see how your _buir'_s doing with Midha."

Scogar was doing… Jango's thoughts stuttered to a halt at the sight of the younger man dressed in green beskar'gam detailed in the same orange-gold. Green usually indicated service out of duty, but that was a paler, yellow-green shade; the green Scogar had chosen was darker and deeper, almost emerald in hue. _Buirkan:_ responsibility towards others. An _aliit'alor_ who took joy in his life. The sight of the mythosaur done in silver on his left shoulder left Jango feeling warm inside.

Scogar grinned at them. "What do you think?"

Zoh stepped forward, eyes alight with mischief, and raised her forearm for her father to knock his own vambrace against. "Good choice."

Mustering a smile, Jango managed, _"Ni haa'tayli Mando'ad."_

The look Scogar gave him in return was appreciative. _"Tion'vaabi?"_

Jango just moved forward and kissed him in response, ignoring the kids' giggling and Midha audibly rolling her eyes. When he finally stepped back, he had the satisfaction of seeing Scogar a little breathless. Jango offered the package he'd collected from Neve. "This is for you."

Scogar arched a brow and turned his attention towards loosening the ties that held the wrapped casing closed. "From you?"

"No. Technically it's been yours for a while, but we suspected there would be some sort of tracker on it, given how personal a _beskad_ is. We had someone scan it and remove what they found."

Scogar looked up at him sharply as he slid the curved sword from the case. "Wait. Was this Vizsla's?"

Jango nodded. "It's yours now. You won it fairly."

The weapon had been cleaned, and Karlen had crafted a new sheath for it. The grip was also newly wrapped; _kaysh_ had clearly had to dismantle the hilt to remove the ownership tag. Both Jango and Midha were carefully watching for Scogar's reaction; the _goran_ wouldn't be able to see his face from her angle, but she could read the set of his shoulders and he pulled the weapon into the light.

After a moment, Scogar frowned. "What's the best way to carry something like this? It won't fit the way my vibroblade does."

Midha answered. "Vizsla was using a hanger from his belt. My _riduur_ prefers a _kadril_ for hers, it's like a baldric, but adjustable so the _kad_ can be carried flat against the back or slung at the side." She smirked. "But you're right, it won't fit under your jacket. A warrior's _kad_ isn't meant to be hidden."

Scogar nodded. "That sounds ideal, then."

Of course Midha happened to have a _kadril_ available and showed him how to rig it. Jango missed most of what she had to say about it; he was still a bit distracted. As usual, his imagination had inadequately envisioned the reality of Scogar wearing traditional armour. The only things missing were the _gadi'tracyë, _the customized weapons packs that mounted to the vambraces; Scogar and Zohli had already commissioned sets patterned after what they usually carried, and those had been ready for weeks, waiting at the _vhett._

Jango couldn't help but wonder how the group of them looked as they emerged from the _goran'_s workshop in full kit, _buy'cesë_ tucked under their arms as they headed for the speeder. Enough Mando'adë wore beskar'gam in Keldabe that it wasn't unusual, but the three of them together with Boba… they would definitely look like a family.

It was late afternoon by the time they arrived at _Vercopaani'vaar._ A bunch of the clan kids gathered around to admire Zohli's new look while Qiiun summoned Scogar aside.

[[There was a comm for you while you were out. He gave his name as Nym and said it was urgent.]]

Frowning, Scogar gestured for Jango to follow him inside to the room he'd claimed as an office. When the return call was answered, a big Feeorin glared at them.

_"Bastra, finally. Nice outfit. Who's your friend, there?"_

"Someone trustworthy, Nym," Scogar elided. "What's going on?"

_"I need help from someone persuasive. We rescued a bunch of Trade Federation slaves but they're refusing treatment for… fuck, I dunno what's wrong with 'em. It's like they're having some sort of spice withdrawal, but it's lasting a lot longer than it should, and they insist that medics are 'forsaken'."_ He made air quotes around the last word. _"I can't force 'em to accept care - well, I could, and whatever medical station I took 'em to would never work with me again. I was hoping you could talk 'em around."_

Scogar sighed. "You're still working Karthakk, yes? It's over three days to get to you there-"

Nym shrugged. _"Yeah, no, we're heading in your direction. These people wanna go home so bad, I'm pretending to take them back and buying a little time. We're two and a half days out from Mandalore right now, but I figure if you meet us at the waystation in Daalang we can get things sorted out a little faster."_

Daalang was a run of a bit over a day. Scogar glanced at Jango; Jango tilted his head to the side. This was really more his partner's sort of matter; Scogar would probably be able to figure out what was wrong with Nym's guests. "I have to go see Roz at some point, but I don't mind hanging around the _vhett."_

"Alright, Nym. I'll meet you at Daalang and see what can be done." Scogar ended the call and sighed. "Well."

"Well," Jango agreed, pushing down his disappointment. He'd been hoping for some proper downtime. Who knew how long this job would take?

A wicked grin crossed Scogar's face and he shoved Jango back against the wall beside the closed door, pressing close against his chest and sliding a leg in between Jango's thighs, undeterred by the clatter of armour on armour. Jango bit back a groan and his partner murmured, "I guess we'll have to make the most of what privacy we have right now, then, hmm?"

* * *

.

* * *

**Mando'a translations:**

_goran_ \- metalworker  
_mirshë'urë_ \- counselors  
_vodyc_ \- comradeship  
_jatnë manda_ \- good mood and feeling of familial warmth  
_kar'sal_ \- silver (lit: "star colour")  
_cavhë'yaim_ \- cafe  
_an'gaidë_ \- "full plate", armour that has more coverage, including thighs and upper arms  
_baar'ur_ \- doctor  
_aliik_ \- armour sigil, usually a clan or house icon  
_kaysh_ \- they/them, Mandalorian universal pronoun  
_"Ni haa'tayli Mando'ad"_ \- "I behold a Mandalorian."  
_tion'vaabi?_ \- "Oh, really?"  
_kadril_ \- adjustable baldric  
_gadi'traycë_ \- vambrace weaponry


	11. Chapter 11: Introductions

_Reformation Year 981.05.06  
Ylesia_

If Nal Hutta was the armpit of the galaxy, Feemor decided, Ylesia was somewhere rather lower down. The moment he stepped off the transport, the hot, humid air slapped him in the face like a soaked towel. The simple civilian clothes he wore - a long tunic, longer vest, and loose trousers tucked into low boots - were already clinging to his skin, and the loose strands of his hair hung limp and sticky around his face. The air stank of rotting vegetable matter and swamp gas, and he struggled to maintain the aspect of a wide-eyed pilgrim.

_The Hutts can see in spectrums beyond human range, and the t'landa Til are highly empathic. WHY could they not have sent a Shadow here instead?_ It was possible to use the Force to regulate body temperature and mood, but most Jedi had no need to develop such skills beyond theoretical knowledge. Feemor had spent the entire trip attempting to refine what he knew, but the Master of Shadows had apparently been of the opinion that having a more natural reaction would raise less suspicion.

She had also provided a comm code for a Shadow contact whom he could call for help. Feemor had memorised it and tucked it away in the back of his mind, because Hautha had been deadly serious about the commune absconding with everything the 'pilgrims' brought with them. Feemor was confident he could steal a comm from one of the staff, if it came to that.

Before Feemor could get far past the hangar exit, a twi'lek woman with pale yellow skin wearing simple robes hurried over. "Salutations and welcome to Colony One!" she gushed. "You have the look of one who seeks answers."

_You have no idea._ Feemor bowed, making it less coordinated than he usually would. "Yeah, I…. Things have just been so overwhelming lately, and one of my friends told me they heard of this place, and…. Well, I just need a break, you know? Time to figure myself out." He let himself babble nervously as the woman slipped her arm through his, nodding sagely.

"Many of our pilgrims have such difficulties. You're in good company here! I am Pilgrim 489, and it is my duty and privilege to welcome all new arrivals."

She led him through what might have been generously called a city if you tilted it sideways and squinted. The streets were packed earth, and the plaster-walled buildings rarely cleared more than two storeys under their tall domed roofs, which Feemor hoped were intended to regulate the interior temperature. There were no stairs, just long ramps that curved around the outsides to upper-level balconies - designed for Hutts, he realised, as he saw several on ornate hoversleds, and many more moving around under their own power. There were a number of t'landa Til as well - massive quadrupeds that resembled Hutts with thick, stocky legs and a long horn growing from their foreheads. The males had an abundance of loose flesh hanging like a wattle below their throats, which wobbled and puffed as they spoke to each other. Hutts and t'landa Til all had small entourages of humanoid guards and some servants wearing robes similar to what Feemor's twi'lek guide wore.

"How long has the colony been here? I never heard of it before Keela mentioned it," Feemor asked.

"Eight Standard years. High Priest Teroenza had a holy vision and abandoned his lucrative position on Nal Hutta to dedicate his life to spreading the peace of The One And The All," his guide gushed, the capital letters audible as she uttered them with reverence.

Feemor found himself recoiling mentally from referring to her by the number she'd given. "I want to know more." He loaded as much earnest curiosity as he could muster into the request, and was rewarded with a dazzling smile.

"Wonderful! I promise you won't regret it."

Feemor regretted it enough already, but the feeling redoubled when the pilgrims' Registrar dubbed him Pilgrim 229, handed him a set of robes and a pair of sandals identical to those worn by his guide, and then took away everything he'd brought with him. It didn't matter that the contents of the pack - toiletries, a few sets of clothes, and a personal datapad storing nothing but a few novels, a couple holos, and some stills that had been crafted by the Order's best holoartists of Feemor with people who could have been friends or family - wasn't strictly _his._ It was the principle of what they were doing: removing all connections to a newcomer's identity and isolating them from their existing support. Registering a person as a number rather than the name they arrived with would make it next to impossible to trace new arrivals past that point. It was insidious and quite transparent to someone who knew what to look for.

He looked at his guide as she led him towards the pilgrims' barracks, feigning interest. "Why is my number lower than yours? Are they assigned at random?"

"Oh, no." She seemed delighted to be able to explain more to him. "But in order to commune with The One And The All, we must release as much of our worldly possessions as possible, including our names. The numbers are merely for identification. The last 229 must have ascended recently."

"Ascended?" He really hoped that didn't mean what he feared it meant.

His guide nodded cheerfully. "It's the goal all pilgrims have: to attain oneness with The One And The All. The High Priest can see into our hearts and souls, and those who have achieved oneness are sent on to a temple he's established elsewhere." She leaned close, dropping her voice a little. "The location is a closely guarded secret, but only because some fear the High Priest's truth. The Jedi, especially, would force us to stop. They cannot accept that others may access oneness in a way that's different from theirs."

_The Force. That's what they're talking about, and why it hasn't caught our attention before now._ Shoving down the sudden dread that welled up within him, Feemor simply followed quietly to his bunk assignment - there was a small drawer beneath the uncomfortable-looking cot which held another set of robes and nothing else - already plotting to acquire a comm at the soonest convenience. A rogue Force user selling their skills to coerce people into slavery was well beyond Feemor's level.

* * *

_Daalang Waystation_

Zohli had _not_ been happy at being left behind on Mandalore, but two of her courses had exams coming up in the next week and Obi-Wan had no idea if this short trip would turn into something longer. Jango had offered to take Zohli and some of the older adë on a climbing trip to soften the disappointment, and Obi-Wan had expressed his gratitude passionately the night before he, Feid, and Pulkka had left.

_"If you think I wouldn't jump at the chance to take a bunch of people into the hills for a couple days…"_ Jango had answered with a grin.

_"That's not the point. You're not just offering that to Zoh, you're offering it to my _clan," Obi-Wan had reminded him. Jango's grin had faded a little as recognition crept in behind his eyes; it was possible he hadn't even _considered_ the greater meaning of spending time taking a bunch of _cin vhetin_ under his figurative wing. Nobody in Keldabe had been ignorant, certainly, not from the comments Obi-Wan had overheard.

What fascinated him was how intensely _quiet_ the local media had been about it: despite Neve's warning, the news had focused more on Pre Vizsla's misfortune and the responses from the greater body of the Kyr'tsad. Aliit Bastra had been left in peace and unnamed but for a traditional announcement of its founding. Hopefully things would remain that quiet; his people weren't yet prepared for the kind of trouble Kyr'tsad could bring. And without him there….

It wasn't the first time he had gone off on a job without members of his family, but now there were a lot more of them. Obi-Wan had thought worrying about Phel and Zoh had been bad, but this was on an entirely different level of concern.

Nym had shot Obi-Wan a short text message while he'd been packing, telling him to bring the 'Mando digs'. Obi-Wan had some misgivings about going into things so quickly without any real time to acclimate to the beskar'gam's mass, but the Feeorin pirate usually had good reasons for his suggestions.

Kole met them at the docking port; the Chadra-Fan eyed Obi-Wan in his new armour and nodded. [[Looks a little too shiny, but you walk like you're used to it. Good, good.]]

Obi-Wan frowned and folded his arms. "What's this about, Kole?"

[[I'll fill you in on the way,]] Kole chirped and motioned for him to follow. [[Put the helmet on before going out in public here, it's a rough station.]]

"You're planning something."

Kole's enormous ears flicked in confirmation. [[No way Nym's taking those people back to where they came from, but he wants to know what's going on. Ylesia is a Hutt planet - it's kind of a resort world for them - and the only way to get information from the Hutts without paying a fortune and a few vital organs is to get on their staff. Mandalorians are a hot commodity for the underworld, thanks to the reputation for ruthlessness; Hutts _love_ being able to parade around with Mando bodyguards.]]

"Why does Nym care enough about what's going on there to investigate?" They skirted a raucous group of mercenaries spilling out of a cantina before Kole replied.

[[The Trade Federation is using them as a source of cheap labour. You know how it is: we can't catch every colonizer ship coming into Karthakk, but we can cut off their supply, either with blasters, or with politics. And you're better with politics.]] He shrugged and palmed open the docking bay door. [[The last thing we need is the Hutts putting bounties on all of us, so politics is the optimal choice.]]

"Politics, or a _very_ well-prepared con," Obi-Wan agreed.

[[Same thing, really. Go on in, he's in the lounge.]]

Nym was pacing, his features set in a heavy scowl which only lightened by a fraction when Obi-Wan set his helmet on the table beside a stripped blaster rifle. Nym always did resort to gun work when he was bothered by something. "There you are. You're better with people than I am. _Please_ convince these folks to let a medic look at them."

He led Obi-Wan down the corridor to the guest bunkroom, which was usually a secondary cargo hold when the eight bunks weren't folded down on their wall brackets. "We got them to eat, at least, just broth, ration bars, and water. They're picky - _religiously_ picky - and I _know_ some species aren't getting the right nutrients from it. The Bothan especially looks like he needs several days on a vitamin drip. Can't get 'em to accept it. At least they'll shower, and they haven't tried to make trouble. Spend most of their time prayin' or something."

The room wasn't really large enough for the number of people there - Obi-Wan lost count at fourteen individuals seated on the floor and murmuring some sort of chant - and the bunks had been left folded up. "Nym, what-"

"They refused to use 'em," Nym muttered, gesturing to the mismatched array of secondhand bedrolls spread across the floor. "We had to improvise. I've never met people who were so obsessed with _refusing_ anything comfortable."

Obi-Wan took a couple steps into the room; a few of them glanced over before going back to their murmured chant. The sense in the Force suggested that they were hoping he and Nym would become impatient and leave, and that this tactic had a dual intent, an attempt to keep themselves 'pure' until they could be returned to Ylesia.

The silent treatment wasn't new to him. Obi-Wan took a seat in half-lotus on the floor and settled into a light meditation. He caught growing irritation from Nym's guests, and the moment when they started the chant over again; it was now a matter of whose patience would crack first.

"What are you doing?"

Obi-Wan didn't bother opening his eyes. "Waiting for you. My people meditate, as well; it would be rude to interrupt."

The person grunted as the implication that _they_ had interrupted _him_ struck home. "You pirates all ask the same questions, make the same demands. We must return to Ylesia, and medical care by any but the faithful would taint us."

"Even a medical droid?" Obi-Wan asked.

"We have taken vows of _purity;_ medical droids have orders to inject substances without seeking permission, substances which would disrupt our communion with The One And The All."

It sounded like an excuse to prevent them from being subjected to standard blood testing, which would uncover the presence of spice or other narcotics in their systems. He kept that opinion to himself. "Can you tell me about The One And The All? I'm interested to learn more."

One of them scoffed as the chant finally fell apart. "You're not worthy to know more; you haven't given your life over to it willingly," someone else sniped with a haughty sniff. "The One And The All only accepts those who have sacrificed our former lives and all materialistic needs to dedicate ourselves to its service."

It was clever, and insidious, and as Obi-Wan gently filtered through the minds in the room, he was horrified at the state of them. Every being had some form of natural mental shielding; some were stronger than others, purely through upbringing and occasionally the nature of their species. These people's minds looked like their shields had been carved away from the outside, violently; they were crumbling in places and perforated like rusted metal. Every sentient in the room had been subjected to the psychic equivalent of repeated acid baths.

It was difficult to keep his reaction from his face, but he managed. Obi-Wan rose and nodded to them politely before joining Nym in the corridor outside.

The big Feeorin was leaning against the wall, arms folded. "See what I meant? Someone's done a hell of a job on them."

Obi-Wan sighed and rubbed his temples. "So, here's the dilemma. Yes, they've been brainwashed. It's how cults maintain their control over people: they strip them of free will and then become their only support network. If we refuse their request and take them to someone I know who can get them treatment, we are, technically, also refusing to grant them free will. Even though, if we granted their request, they would likely end up in slavery again, or worse."

"Yeah, you can see where I'm stuck, here."

"I hate to say it, but it might be for the best to refuse to take them back to Ylesia. At least immediately. I can put in a call to my friend-" Bail Organa would definitely know which services could help- "and your people can see them safely off while the two of us go investigate what's really going on."

"You can't just mind trick 'em into wanting to go?" Nym sounded disappointed. "You shoulda heard the wailing before we agreed to come this far. They think we've only stopped temporarily for repairs."

Obi-Wan narrowed his eyes at Nym and dropped his voice. "There are _limits_ to what I will do to people, Nym," he hissed. "Using the Force to convince them to accept medical attention is one thing. Using it to make them think leaving the cult is their idea, is something else entirely. Not only that, but it would cause _more_ long term harm than turning them over to a treatment facility."

Nym grumbled something under his breath. "Fine. You got an angle to work?"

"The Bothan is headed for blindness and possible renal failure; they need _immediate_ attention. I'll lean on that and talk the others around once the droid is in the room." The thought of coercing people this way made Obi-Wan grimace, but what were their other options?

His friend looked up the hall to where one of his crew had a wall panel open, checking the atmospheric condensers. "Ch'yme, go get one of the med droids down here. J-3, if it's available."

The Twi'lek woman glanced from Nym to Obi-Wan to the closed door, and a prickle of recognition ran down the back of Obi-Wan's neck. Part of one of her lekku was missing, with heavy scarring indicating she'd been caught in some sort of explosion. "Just J-3, sir?"

"Fer now." Nym gestured to Obi-Wan. "This is Bastra, he has a way with people."

"Sometimes," he demurred.

Ch'yme returned with the droid within five minutes, and Obi-Wan gave it a few strict orders; J-3 didn't protest. Getting the pilgrims' attention this time was easier: they stopped their chanting and glared at him.

"Now what do you want?" an older human woman growled.

Obi-Wan gestured to the Bothan pilgrim. "Your friend is malnourished and their life is in danger. I can tell from the condition of their fur and the yellow tint to their eyes. We recognise that you have strict dietary limitations, but is it truly humble to refuse the basic nutrients one needs to survive?"

Everyone glanced at the pilgrim in question, and then someone said quietly, "It's true, 531, we've noticed that you're struggling, your eyesight has gotten worse. Maybe-"

"It's a trick!" one of the others insisted.

"No trick." Obi-Wan hated lying like this, but the Bothan pilgrim was going to die without care. "We have a medical droid. It has been ordered not to do anything without obtaining your explicit consent. If you refuse treatment, it won't insist."

After a moment, the Bothan pilgrim sighed; they were likely already in extreme discomfort and trying not to show it. "Very well."

J-3 was a newer model, the kind with an actual bedside manner programmed in, and it handled the first pilgrim with the same care it might offer an anxious child, taking temperature and eventually a blood sample with gentle efficiency. "The assessment of malnutrition is correct, sentient. I would recommend you accept vitamin supplements with each meal in the long term. In the short term, I would offer you a nutrient injection. Would you like to know the source of the nutrients and vitamins before making a decision?"

"Where'd you get the droid from?" Obi-Wan asked Nym quietly.

"Another of those slave transports, 'bout a year ago," he replied. "It's been great for dealing with 'em."

"So I see." He stretched out through the Force, finding the pilgrims who were responding the most positively to the droid's presence, and gave them just the slightest mental nudge towards asking for examinations, themselves. It barely required any effort at all, and within a few hours the droid had blood samples from all of them and had found five others who needed dietary supplements as well.

Once they were in the privacy of Nym's office, Obi-Wan extracted the testing results from the droid's onboard memory. It would take a while, but they could use the results to locate the pilgrims' identities and send updates to any open Missing Persons reports. While the algorithm chewed through the data, he commed Feid.

She was not thrilled at the news. _"Ylesia? Human, I will follow you into the nine Corellian hells and back, but not there."_

Nym frowned at her holo from the other side of the desk. "Okay, I get that it's a Hutt world, but what else is wrong with it?"

_"It's a tropical swamp, for one thing; take your antibiotics. For another, it's a spice world. If it's not being processed on Nar Shaddaa, it's being processed on Ylesia."_

Obi-Wan frowned. "Feid… _Krayn_ had full control of Nar Shaddaa's spice processing. Who's in charge of it now?"

Her eyes widened and she glanced to the side. _"I don't know…. Shit. Did we make things worse when we took Krayn out?"_

"Aga Culpa showed a little backbone and threw some weight around after you cleared out," Nym said. "They're still processing spice on Nar Shaddaa, but it's an 'employment program' for the homeless and unemployed that the King is using to reassure the Republic. No idea if the workers were press-ganged or volunteered, but we know they're being paid, and the slave barracks were opened up and repurposed into housing for the workers. But their production numbers aren't up to even half of what they used to be. I wonder how long this cult of The One has been around for?"

_"I guess you'll be finding out. But be careful. On Ylesia, if you're not already employed by the t'landa Til, you'll quickly end up owned by them. Things are expensive for any non-affiliated sentients, and if you end up in debt - and they'll try to get you there by adding surcharges and fees to everything - good luck ever getting offworld again,"_ Feid said grimly. _"There's enough personal accounts that sound more like horror stories."_

Obi-Wan drummed his fingers on the desk, thinking. "Alright, then here's the plan. Nym's crew can get these pilgrims to… wherever my friend says to go, I need to comm him. Feid: we'll be taking the _Sunflare_ as far as Nar Shaddaa, and then Nym and I will get a shuttle to Ylesia, make ourselves look like easy marks. You, Pulkka, and Dee will just have to sit tight on Nar Shaddaa, and come extract us if things go badly. Maybe take some small jobs on the side for appearance's sake."

_"Zoh's gonna kill you for taking risks like this, you know. Never mind your boyfriend."_

Sighing, he ignored Feid's snipe about Jango. "Hopefully it won't be that much of a risk."

"Now, hang on, I wanna hear more about this boyfriend," Nym interrupted, a gleeful grin splitting his face. "Who's the unlucky bastard?"

_"Oh, no, I'm not gonna give him a reason to shoot me. Ask Bastra."_

Obi-Wan gave Nym a flat glare that would likely only deter him temporarily. "My… _partner,"_ he admitted reluctantly, "knows me well enough that this wouldn't shock him."

Feid laughed. _"Keep telling yourself that."_

He narrowed his eyes at Feid. _"You_ only mentioned this to lighten the mood."

She grinned back, unrepentant. _"Is it working?"_

"No."

"Yeah."

Obi-Wan glared at Nym. "If you taunt him about it, he _will_ find a way to shoot you."

Nym wiggled his fingers at Obi-Wan in a come-hither gesture. "Just tell me, dammit."

"Jango Fett."

The grin melted off Nym's face. "That's not something people joke about, Bastra."

"Do I look like I'm joking?"

_"He's really not joking,"_ Feid put in. _"They're disgustingly adorable together."_

"I never thought I would hear Fett ever being referred to as _adorable."_ Nym shook his head. "That's almost terrifying."

"Don't go thinking he's gone soft. Mandalorians with family to protect are even _more _dangerous." Obi-Wan looked back at Feid. "Are you alright playing emergency pickup for us?"

_"Yeah. Nar Shaddaa is a good place to blend in. Give us a comm once you and Nym are on your way back."_

She closed the channel, and Obi-Wan checked the time and then typed in the code for Senator Organa's personal comm. The Senator didn't take long to respond.

_"Captain Bastra, good morning to you."_ The Senator seemed happy to see him. _"What can I do for you?"_

Obi-Wan put on a wry smile. "We need a recommendation for a repatriation facility that specialises in people who have been under the influence of a cult. They're going to be most displeased that we're not taking them back, but we cannot do so in good conscience."

The Senator sobered immediately. _"How bad is it?"_

Obi-Wan glanced at Nym, who gestured for him to do the talking. "Their cult sold them to the Trade Federation as slaves. They're convinced it's all a mistake. We're afraid that if we take them back, they'll be sold off again."

_"A reasonable concern. Let me see…."_ Organa reached out of the holo field to presumably enter information into his computer. _"What's your current location?"_

Nym answered. "Daalang. If there's something within a day's travel, that would work best."

_"In that case, the Jedi Temple on Chalacta is your best option."_

Nym glanced at Obi-Wan, who kept his expression carefully neutral. The Feeorin pirate arched a brow at the Senator. "The Jedi, really?"

Organa shrugged. _"The Chalactan Order in particular specialises in deep psychological therapy and recovery techniques. The only alternative is a therapeutic practice on Manaan."_

"That's a bit closer." Nym leaned back in his chair and looked to Obi-Wan for his opinion.

He sighed. "I think the Manaan group would be a better fit, given how suspicious the pilgrims got when I started meditating to wait them out."

_"Manaan it is. Give me a few minutes to arrange a confirmation code. Am I correct in assuming you'll be investigating this cult in the meantime?"_

Obi-Wan grinned at him. "You know me so well."

Organa's answering smile was sly. _"It seems like the sort of thing you might do. Please let me know what you discover, and be careful? You're a valuable resource, you know."_

"And for a moment there I almost thought you cared," Obi-Wan teased. "I have a family to think of now; no unnecessary risks."

_"Indeed!"_ Organa openly studied the beskar'gam Obi-Wan now wore. _"I want to hear that story! But later. Next time you visit? Or shall we visit you? The Queen has expressed desire to spend a few days off Alderaan and away from work."_

The thought of the refined Alderaanian politicians on the vhett was intensely amusing. He chuckled. "It's a farm on Mandalore, Senator. I'm not sure what your standards are-"

_"The Queen is also a schoolteacher by trade, one she continues despite the demands of governing a planet,"_ Organa reminded him with an arched eyebrow. _"If you're in charge, I'm sure it's lovely."_

"We can arrange something once this business is resolved, then."

Nym snorted. "Sure your _boyfriend_ won't get jealous?"

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes; Nym was going to be _insufferable_ about this. He'd have to find a suitable way to 'thank' Feid. "If some minor diplomacy upsets him, we have bigger issues to worry about."

_"If he's dating you, I'm sure he's a good man,"_ Organa offered cheerfully.

"He's a mercenary, Senator, the same as me," Obi-Wan reminded him. Jango was kind with those he cared for, but had little time for people who existed beyond that sphere; he could be civil, and handled more fragile individuals with due care, but he was also ruthless and entirely willing to kill if necessary. Traits which Obi-Wan knew he was also developing; his own priority list was undergoing a dramatic shift that had little to do with Mandalore or Jango. "You don't find many _good people_ in our line of work."

_"Allow me to put it another way,"_ the Senator said. _"In the time I've known you, you have always struck me as being a good judge of character-"_

"Present company excluded, of course," Obi-Wan said with a pointed stare at Nym, who smirked back.

Organa gave them an indulgent smile. _"Well, yes, of course. But I highly doubt you would grow so close to someone whose ideals don't align well with your own. I'll run the idea of a visit by Breha; I'm sure she'd enjoy it."_

With a start, Obi-Wan realised that introducing Bail Organa - an acquaintance who had become a friend by sheer dint of the man's genuine affability - and Queen Breha to Jango would effectively constitute a meeting of heads of state. Alderaan and Mandalore were wildly different from each other, culturally; but despite being pacifists, Alderaanians were also scrappy when pushed, and would shove back with a smile, refusing to be walked over. They might find some common ground somewhere in there.

The thought of getting them in a room together made Obi-Wan grin. "You know, that might not be a bad idea. Let me know what your schedule is like and we'll work a visit in."

They signed off and Obi-Wan leaned back in his chair. Before Nym could voice whatever thought was making his lips curl mischievously, Obi-Wan said, "You've got some new faces among your crew."

"Oh, Ch'yme? She's good people. Showed up with a nice tip-off and accepted a job when I offered." Nym arched a heavy brow at Obi-Wan. "Why? Bad vibes?"

"No." He shook his head. "Just a strong feeling I've seen her somewhere before."

"You can always ask her. Jus' be nice about it, yeah? No scaring the new blood."

Obi-Wan shook his head. "No, I'll leave her be. I doubt it's important." The Force hadn't felt any threat from the woman, although she seemed familiar there, too. He'd have to check the HUD memory files he'd copied over to his buy'ce later.

* * *

Dinaas'kan, Jedi Shadow, hadn't even had her new identity as Ch'yme - a disillusioned former Trade Federation employee with a grudge - for even two months, and she may have already been found out. There was something about that Mandalorian Nym had invited onboard - treated like he was a close friend, even - that raised her hackles. And then there was that conversation they'd had in the corridor that she'd eavesdropped on whilst pretending to run a maintenance check.

_"There are _limits _to what I will do to people, Nym. Using the Force to convince them to accept medical attention is one thing. Using it to make them think leaving the cult is their idea, is something else entirely."_

The Mandalorian knew the Force and how to use it - and use it well, too, she'd barely felt him manipulating the pilgrims into accepting help. It wasn't a particularly Jedi-like thing to do, but neither was it Dark; it simply _was,_ and she had to admit that she'd been tempted to do the same more than once out of sheer frustration since they'd picked up their guests.

She sought out Kole. "Who's that Mando Nym just let onboard?"

The first mate frowned at her. [[If you got a problem with Mandalorians-]]

It was as good an excuse as any; she folded her arms. "I don't trust 'em."

[[Yeah, well, Bastra's worked with us a bit. He wasn't Mando until recently, so maybe cut some slack.]]

She scowled hard, as if that was worse. "What, did he marry one or something?"

The Chadra-Fan grumbled and set his datapad down before glaring up at her. [[You can always ask him, kid. He's decent. Good actor, makes him good at getting information from people. Nym wants him along to help find out what's going down on Ylesia.]]

Good _actor?_ Kole had the weirdest standards for decency. "What do we need him for, anyway?"

Kole rolled his eyes. [[You're new here, you wouldn't know. Bastra used to be a Jedi. He'll say he wasn't much of one, just an apprentice or whatever they call 'em. But he can still use the Force to find out things nobody else can, talk people into cooperating nicely, and to sneak around without being spotted. _That's_ what we need him for.]]

Dinaas'kan blinked at him. That explained a lot, but it also opened up a lot more questions. Who was he really? Why had he left the Order? And more importantly, did the Master of Shadows know about him? "You're serious? I thought Mandos hated Jedi."

[[You'd have to ask him about that, too.]] The first mate glared at her. [[Are you done? Any more problems we should know about?]]

Gritting her teeth, she replied, "No, no problems," and left.

Yes, all the problems. She'd been dropping her guard a bit too much around Nym's crew of very much not Force-sensitive pirates, but with Bastra around she'd have to lock it down as tight as she had on Coruscant-

Coruscant. Former Jedi. Bastra was about the same build, and had a long, unmistakable scar over his left eye. His hair was the wrong colour, but dye existed….

It was a huge galaxy, though. The odds that he could also be Davine were astronomical.

* * *

_Reformation Year 981.05.07  
Mandalore_

What had started as a plan to entertain Zohli during her _buir'_s absence had somehow become a Thing. Jango had underestimated how interested Aliit Bastra's teenagers were in going climbing; he'd needed to enlist Ruuli in helping maintain order and remind the kids that a single adult couldn't teach them all at once. Never mind that there wasn't nearly enough room in his ship to carry all of them. Eventually they narrowed it down to Zoh and two other _verd'ikë,_ Viisho and Ghala, who had a little experience already.

They were in the main hall, just finishing packing their kit for the next morning, when the distinct hum of an approaching ship brought everyone's heads up. It was too high-pitched to be the _Sunflare._

One of Qiiun's sisters hurried out of the dedicated comms room onto the ground-level balcony, searching out Zohli among the group. [[There's a ship approaching, the pilot says they're a friend of Scogar's.]]

Jango looked to the teenager; she was biting her lower lip and frowning, but didn't seem confused that her authority was being requested.

"Let them land, I'll go see what they want."

"Want some backup?" he asked quietly.

She gave him a relieved look. "Yes, _please._ We don't know if Kyr'tsad would try locate us, but still…."

Zoh ended up with an honour guard of Jango and four others. Nobody was wearing armour - it would have taken too long to put on - but they all carried blasters on their hips and personal shield projectors strapped to their off hands. The devices were commonly carried by Mandalorians doing farm-work, because nobody wanted to be digging and planting whilst wearing full beskar; the field they projected covered a metre-wide circle in front of the user, sufficient for protection against blasterfire until the user could find better cover.

When the ship finally came into view over the treeline, Jango frowned. It was an _Aka'jor-_class shuttle, common as dirt on Mandalore, but the colours it was painted with suggested it hadn't come from Keldabe. The ship set down gently on the platform as their group reached the edge of the crater valley, and Zoh signalled to wait for the pilot to join them.

The human woman who emerged from the lift was perhaps a bit shorter than Jango, mitigated by the heels on her boots. She had a distinctly Northern cast to her features - dark brown skin, curly hair a shade lighter and redder - but wore Sundari colours that made Jango grind his teeth.

Zohli stepped forward, a bit warily, and said, _"Su cuy'gar. Me'copaani?"_ It was a little brusque - there were more diplomatic ways to ask after the woman's business - but understandable, given her nerves.

The woman took in the welcoming party with a hit of amusement, and her eyes seemed to linger for just a moment on Jango before she turned her attention back to Zoh. _"Su'cuy! Ni burc'ya be Scogar."_ She swapped to Basic with a smile. "I was hoping he'd be here, but given I don't see Feid or Pulkka looming behind you, I'm guessing he's on a job?"

From his position just behind and to Zoh's left, Jango couldn't see her expression, but her ears flicked. "You know my aunts too?"

The woman's eyebrows shot up. "You're his _verd'ika?"_ When Zohli nodded, the woman grinned. "Then I'm so happy to meet you! I'm Tovari Matsuuri; I worked with your dad and aunts on the _Eidolon Hazard_ a few years back. I probably should have commed ahead to see if they'd be here, but I wanted to surprise them. Sorry about that."

Matsuuri. The name distracted Jango from Zohli's introduction: he remembered a bonded couple who hadn't survived the clusterfuck that had been Korda VI, leaving a child behind, already in the care of her mother's sister because the couple had chosen to answer the Mand'alor's call to fight the Kyr'tsad. He'd only been fourteen Standard at the time, and the memory of making every personal comm to notify family members had haunted him for years, even though it hadn't been his orders they'd been following.

"Kaavhyn and Chana's _ad,"_ Jango blurted without really thinking. Matsuuri blinked at him and nodded, and he sighed. "I'm sorry. They were good people."

Her answering smile was lopsided. "From what I understand, you effectively avenged my loss and yours at the same time. _Gar naasad jor'entye."_

"That doesn't mean I can't regret their loss." It struck him then that Matsuuri knew exactly who he was, but wasn't asking for confirmation or introduction. He'd kept up enough on Sundari politics to know that Ethyne was Kryze's chief of security; it seemed likely that Tovari was also involved in the government. If she wasn't told his name, she could deny that she had seen him there.

Zoh tilted her head at Matsuuri and, oh, Jango recognised that particular tilt to her ears. She was up to something. "Well anyway, I don't know when _At'tha_ will be back - it should be a short trip, but you know how things can escalate when you're not expecting it. Would you like a tour of the _vhett_ while you're here?"

Matsuuri's eyes lit up. "I would _love_ a tour. This place is amazing."

The teenager gestured for her guards to stand down; most of them turned with a sigh of relief and started making their way back to the compound. Jango and a Twi'lek woman named Tinti stayed behind by unspoken agreement; Tinti had expressed some desire to actively repay Scogar, and protecting Zohli while he was away seemed to be part of it.

For his part, Jango _really_ wanted to ask Matsuuri about Scogar's early days away from the Jedi. He was certain there'd be plenty of material to tease his partner with once he got back.

* * *

_Ylesia_

The plan was simple: Obi-Wan would keep his helmet on, play grim, mysterious, and mostly silent, and Nym would call him 'Mando'. The shielding afforded by the armour would keep the Hutts and their cousin species, the t'landa Til, from reading his biological responses to whatever he sensed there.

Nym hadn't yet decided if he cared enough to try to shut the operation down, or merely try to turn them against their Trade Federation partners; Obi-Wan was already leaning on the side of shutting it down, but they'd need to do it in such a way that it couldn't start again somewhere else. Either way, they needed intel.

They stepped off the shuttle and Obi-Wan watched the external humidity gauge in his HUD tick up towards a sticky ninety-three percent. A quick glance towards Nym proved that his aquatic biology was doing him a lot of favours: his green skin, normally fairly dull in shipboard atmospherics, was turning glossy as Obi-Wan watched, bringing out subtle patterns of blue and orange. Nym stretched, luxuriating in the swampy air, and breathed deeply. His expression immediately screwed up like he'd eaten an expired ration bar; smacking his tongue, Nym grumbled, "The weather's great, but it tastes like a compost heap in summer. I'm almost jealous of that helmet of yours, Mando."

Obi-Wan laughed. "Can't have it all."

They followed instructions to a cantina where the climate control was laboring noisily to maintain a comfortable balance; Nym took an easy pose leaning against the bar while Obi-Wan merely rested his elbow on it.

"Chut-chut! Hi chuba da naga?" The bartender was a scantily dressed Twi'lek woman whose smile didn't reach her eyes; her greeting at least attempted to sound perky, but there was no real feeling behind it.

Nym ordered a drink; Obi-Wan shook his head slightly when the woman looked at him.

"Nee bukiye bosko de murishani bargon? O wo bosko de... pateesa?" she asked as she poured Nym's drink.

Obi-Wan wondered how many people would actually flee to a planet like this to evade a bounty. "Work," he replied shortly, crushing his Core accent down into something rougher.

"Kee taska bulo. Incha wallaskee toh, maskalia din-chu," she said with a shrug. She met Nym's eyes, then Obi-Wan's, as if gauging their potential interest in her - specifically. Nym slid the payment for the drink across the bar and deliberately turned away; Obi-Wan just met her stare with his blank buy'ce until she flushed and busied herself rearranging glasses.

They scanned the place casually, Nym by eye and Obi-Wan via the Force. Despite the effort they had both made to look like they knew their business, Obi-Wan and Nym weren't the most intimidating people in the cantina; nobody in the room was a stranger to mercenary work, and the intimidation prize went to a massively built grey-furred Togorian who was at least a head taller than Nym. She finished her drink, slammed the glass on the table, and rose like a leviathan from the sea, stalking over to loom directly over Obi-Wan.

"Tough little mercenary man. You think to be next big guard? Break you like stick. Fancy metal won't save you."

He remained standing the way he was, one elbow still resting on the bar. Togorians were a Wookiee-sized felinoid species, and just as dangerous in close quarters. Her claws would absolutely shred his _kute_ and possibly go through the durasteel.

The Force was in tumult and whispered of caution; Obi-Wan wanted to be more circumspect, but it wouldn't fit with the persona he'd adopted for this. "Big words from someone who chose to pick on the little guy," he replied in a tone that would cut through the background rumble of conversation.

The taunt hit where he intended. The Togorian bristled - literally - and seized him by the throat; the armour held, preventing him from being choked, but she still had enough purchase to lift him off the floor. Obi-Wan grabbed her wrist with his left hand to support himself and drove his other fist forward, the vibro-shiv he'd palmed in a reverse grip stopping just far enough from her neck to trim the fur; Nym's blaster primed loudly in the sudden silence, the barrel pressed to the soft spot in the Togorian's skull in front of her ear.

"I'd advise you to put my partner down, lady."

She chuffed, ice-blue eyes glinting at Obi-Wan in the dim cantina light. "Real Mando don't need support. You prove real Mando. We fight."

"Why does it matter to you?" he gritted; holding himself up with the slightest boost from the Force was simple, but he couldn't let anyone _know_ he wasn't struggling.

The Togorian bared an impressive set of fangs at him. Now that he had a moment to really study her, it was apparent that she was middle-aged for her species, the fur paling around her eyes and muzzle. An old shrapnel scar, the corded flesh mostly hidden by her fur, crawled up the right side of her face; several of those fangs had been replaced with metallic prosthetics. "Little mercenary want to be Mando? No Mandos left. Prove worthy of that beskar'gam."

_Ah._ That could be a problem. But trying to reason would get him nowhere while the woman's temper was high. "Fine, lady," Obi-Wan said. "Let's take this outside."

She turned and flung him bodily out the door.

Obi-Wan barely controlled his landing; he regained his feet only to roll to the side as the Togorian charged out, claws extended.

The _bes'kad_ strapped to his back was too long to be of any use here; Obi-Wan drew his left-hand shiv, the second in the pair, and started to circle. Backing away would get him killed: he needed to get in under her guard and hopefully subdue her. Somehow. The Temple's combat lessons had been thorough on species biology but inadequate for a street brawl.

She lunged, long arms swinging for his chest, and Obi-Wan dodged left, one shiv screeching as it nicked the armour on the side of her thigh. Her elbow whipped back and caught him across the face. Without the buy'ce his nose would have been shattered; with it, the blow still dazed him. Obi-Wan staggered; the Force shrilled in his ear, and he rolled forward over his right shoulder, sparks still dancing in his vision. They cleared in time to see his opponent throw herself at him again; he spotted his opening an instant before it cleared. Instead of rolling again, Obi-Wan ducked her claws and charged into her stomach, tackling her with all the power he had. They went down in a tumble and a cloud of dust; Obi-Wan forewent the knife in his hand and just punched her in the chin with an armoured fist.

It barely had an effect, other than possibly making her angrier. He didn't have the mass or leverage to pin her; the tussle ended with Obi-Wan on the bottom, which was a _bad_ place to be when your opponent's limbs all ended in blades. He coiled up, protecting his abdomen, and hooked a leg over her shoulder as she drew her arm back for a strike, pressing his knee in against the side of her throat. If he was wrong about where the carotid artery was, this fight was going to be over fast.

His opponent _froze,_ shock and _recognition_ rippling through the Force as her eyes went wide. She slapped his shoulder, tapping out as if they'd been having nothing more than a friendly spar, all tension bleeding out as if it had never been there. Cautiously, Obi-Wan released her, and she dragged him to his feet. The cantina patrons who'd followed them out grumbled in disappointment that the fight was over so shortly; most turned to go back to their drinking.

The Togorian studied him; sandy dust coated her fur and armour, and she slapped at it carelessly. "That move. Who teach you?"

Gasping for air, Obi-Wan shook his head a little; it was still ringing from the blow. Where _had_ he picked up that particular chokehold? Oh, right. "Fett," he wheezed, and the Togorian leaned back.

"He lives?"

Nym's gleeful voice came from behind her. "You just threw his boytoy ten metres out the door."

She squinted at Obi-Wan. "That true?"

He laughed breathlessly, barely remembering to flatten his accent again as he put his knives away. "It'd be a dangerous thing to lie about, don't you think?"

"Hrm," she grunted. "That _Jaster's_ move." Her massive hand closed on Obi-Wan's shoulder - claws sheathed - and tugged him back towards the cantina. "Took shrapnel to face fighting Death Watch. Miss Galidraan. Hey! _Cheeka!"_ she roared at the bartender. "Open private room! Bring three tihaar!"

The bartender paled and scurried towards the back; the Togorian followed, practically dragging Obi-Wan while Nym trailed behind. Obi-Wan's friend was _far_ too amused at his expense.

"You're not Mandalorian," Obi-Wan said, once they were settled around a table that was far too small for the mass of both the Togorian woman and Nym.

"No. Good friend. Owe Jaster for freedom; was gladiator on Nar Kreeta." She bared her fangs at the bartender as the terrified woman dropped off three glasses and a bottle of tihaar and fled. "Nice. Put on tab, _cheeka._ After Galidraan, do mercenary thing. You strict Mando?"

Obi-Wan hesitated, but the turmoil in the Force had settled. "No. But it's convenient." He removed his buy'ce and pushed a loose strand of hair back behind his ear. "You must have been out of touch for years. Jango's re-forming the True Mandalorians, under Jaster's codex."

"Good." She handed him a glass of the clear spirit. "Name Karrrkal. You?"

"Bastra. This is my work partner, Nym."

Nym accepted his glass with an off-handed, "Cheers."

They knocked their drinks back as one and Karrrkal poured again. "Why come Ylesia? Me, good for Hutt bodyguard. You, not so much. Work better elsewhere."

Obi-Wan could practically hear Nym's brain ticking over. "You know what they do here, with the cult?" Nym asked quietly.

Karrrkal bared her teeth. "Yes. Slaves who don't know. You here to mess with them?"

"Maybe," Obi-Wan replied. "Depends if we think we need backup."

She was quiet for a moment, processing that. "Hrm. Tough job. Hutt security good, loyal. Lot of credits, yes? But. Know who High Priest is. I get you introduction, maybe you get better intel, yes?"

Obi-Wan exchanged a look with Nym, who shrugged. "It's faster than working our way up the chain," Nym admitted.

"Excellent. I tell them you hard Mando, good fighter," she chuckled.

Nym snickered and Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. "You're enjoying this too much."

The Feeorin bared his teeth at him. "I just saw you punch someone who acted like it was a mosquito bite. I'm having the time of my life."

Karrrkal patted Obi-Wan's shoulder. "You good fighter. Good right cross. Feel that tomorrow."

"You can't even keep a straight face saying that," he accused, and she released the laugh she'd been holding back.

"Togorian jaw like rock. Next time, hit nose."

* * *

.

* * *

**Mando'a Translations:**  
_Su cuy'gar. Me'copaani?_ \- Hello. What do you want?  
_Su'cuy! Ni burc'ya be Scogar._ \- Hi! I'm a friend of Scogar's.  
_Gar naasad jor'entye._ \- "You carry no debt", **much** more formal than _"n'entye"_

**Huttese Translations:**  
_Chut-chut! Hi chuba da naga?_ \- Greetings! What can I get you?  
_Nee bukiye bosko de murishani bargon? O wo bosko de... pateesa?_ \- Are you boys looking for mercenary work? Or just looking for a... 'friend'?  
_Kee taska bulo. Incha wallaskee toh, maskalia din-chu._ \- You picked the right cantina for that. Stick around a while, someone will bite.


	12. Chapter 12: Revelry

_Reformation Year 981.05.07  
Coruscant_

Shmi had been torn on how to share knowledge of their family's survival with Anakin. Obi-Wan definitely didn't want his name attached, not recognisably, and it had taken Shmi a while to devise a story that was true without offering the _full_ truth. It did help that Anakin and Qui-Gon had been offworld for a couple months on an assignment. But now they were home, sitting at her table, and Shmi couldn't contain it any longer. Her son deserved to know.

"I have some good news," she started. She immediately had Kitster's attention: he'd known there was something bothering her for a while, but she'd begged the need for the rest of their family to hear it at the same time.

Qui-Gon's eyebrows arched. "And yet you seem troubled by it?"

Of course he would notice. Shmi sighed. "No, it's good. It could just… be better. I received a comm from my sister."

_"No way!"_

_"Wizard!"_

"Your sister?"

Shmi held up her hand to forestall their questions. "Part of our family, the trading clans we traveled with, were released from slavery by a kind Mandalorian. He's adopted them all into his clan for their safety, and helping them start a new life on Mandalore." She grinned, feeling again the warm rush of excitement that came with knowing she and Anakin weren't the last of the Skywalkers. "It's not all of our family, but-"

Anakin launched himself around the corner of the table to hug her tightly. "That's amazing, Mom! He just _rescued_ them?"

_"You have family?!"_ Kitster squawked. The roll he'd been buttering before Shmi's news distracted him crumbled onto his plate as he squeezed too tightly.

"I haven't been told the whole story, but he did apparently take a job for the explicit purpose of winning and freeing them," she admitted. She doubted even Ruuli had been told everything, but they knew Obi-Wan had been injured severely in the process.

Of course, Anakin's next question was, "Can we go visit them?"

Qui-Gon shifted in his chair, frowning. "I don't know if that would be wise. Not all Mandalorians are fond of Jedi." He glanced at Shmi. "Do you know what faction he aligns with?"

She shook her head and squeezed her son once more before shooing him back to his seat and handing Kitster a napkin with a frown. "I know Clan Bastra's farm is some hours northwest of Keldabe-"

The Jedi Master made a displeased noise. "True Mandalorian. Not as hostile as Death Watch, but there's still a long and unpleasant history between them and the Order. You said Bastra?" At her nod, he leaned back, stroking his beard; Shmi really wished he wouldn't do that at the table. "Bastra is a _Corellian_ surname, a very common one. It's old Corelisi for _shipwright,_ from the days before Corellia developed space travel. I wonder how they came to be Mandalorian?"

Shmi relaxed a bit, relieved that Qui-Gon had assumed the clan was older than it was in truth. "I can ask if they would welcome a visit," she offered hesitantly. "Ruuli - my sister - already knows that you're Jedi. It might not be a problem." Obi-Wan might wish to be elsewhere, of course, but calling ahead would offer enough warning.

Anakin aimed his saddest nexu kit eyes at Qui-Gon, who sighed. "I suppose it can't hurt to ask."

* * *

_Mandalore_

In Zoh's defense, she'd completely lost track of the days. There was just so much going on - setting up the vhett, _At'tha'_s business with Nym, getting their armour, preparing for exams…. And even though her dad had insisted he wasn't the one in charge of the _vhett_ or even their _aliit,_ everyone had been looking to Zoh for her judgment on things since _At'tha_ and the others had left to meet up with Nym. And then their old crewmate had turned up unexpectedly; it was just bad timing on her part, but Zoh had felt the need to be a gracious host. It helped that she recognised Tovari from the few group holos they had around the _Sunflare,_ and the others had shared a few stories of their time on the _Eidolon Hazard._

She was so wrapped up in explaining the details of the fields, the orchards, the way they were trying to make the best use of the land, Zohli hadn't noticed that by the time she, _Cabur_ Jango, and Tovari had headed for the house itself, there was nobody else out in the fields.

The moment they entered the main hall, Zoh froze. _Everyone_ was there, staring at them, like there was some formal greeting party for their unexpected guest she hadn't been aware of.

And then all the kids, including Boba, mobbed her, screaming, _"Happy birthday, Zozo!"_

Whilst fielding hugs and the array of handmade beaded bracelets the kids offered, she stared at the assembled adults, who were grinning at her confusion. "I totally forgot…."

"Your _buir_ didn't," Jango said. He gently pushed through the littler ones clinging to Zoh's knees and hugged her tightly. _"Briikasë gotë'tuur, ad'ika."_

She squeezed back; it wasn't the same as _At'tha'_s hugs, but Jango was just as warm and affectionate in his own way. _"Vor entyë, Cabur."_

Their _aliit_ had taken advantage of her being outside, and the long tables were covered in party food. Jango had kept her too busy prepping for their climbing trip to investigate the wonderful cooking smells earlier, and she threw him a dirty look. He only laughed and helped Boba load his plate.

Their guest was delighted to be included; all the kids wanted to sit next to Zohli, but the adults guided them away, leaving spaces for Jango and Tovari beside her. Tovari gave her a bemused smile. "I feel like a guest of honour instead of unexpected."

Jango leaned forward to look past Zohli and arch an eyebrow at the woman; he clearly had some mistrust of her being from the Sundari faction, but was willing to put it aside for now. "Mandalorian hospitality dictates courtesy for guests. But you're also extended family, in a way. Unless you don't want to be included among Scogar's _vodë?"_

Oh, that was a weird thought. Zoh knew her _At'tha_ and Tovari had been together for a short time, and that they were still friends. If even Jango was asking if she wanted to be included, it said something positive about his impression of her during the few hours they'd been walking the _vhett._

Blinking in surprise, Tovari smiled. "You know? I would."

Jango's grin went toothy and devious. "Excellent. Then as family, you would of course let us know about his more youthful indiscretions. So we can defend his honour properly, of course."

Zoh rolled her eyes. "You _know_ he loves sharing his embarrassing stories. They're the best way to tell us all what _not_ to do without him looking all bossy."

Tovari laughed. "There's always a few stories that aren't suitable for the younger ones. Did he tell you about the time he kept our captain from getting shivved in a bar by distracting people with sleight of hand tricks?"

Wide eyed, her mouth full of braised nuna, Zoh shook her head.

"Right," the woman started with a grin. "So we'd just wrapped up a delivery on Ord Cantrell..."

She had a few other stories that had the adults within hearing range howling with laughter. Jango was definitely appreciating them, and Zoh let herself relax for the first time since _At'tha_ left. It sounded like her dad hadn't been in a very good place when he'd met Tovari and the others, but had tried his best anyway. Tovari was a good storyteller; she knew how to build tension just right and then break it with a joke.

"Then there was the time he was helping the Protectors on Concord Dawn-"

"We've heard this one," Jango interrupted with a grin. "He dropped a ceiling on the slavers and then decided he had to fight a Wookiee."

Tovari's eyes glinted. "Did he tell you he took that job to take a break from being around the Duchess, though?"

Zoh tilted her head. "Which Duchess?"

"Officially, he was acting as a bodyguard for Satine Kryze, Duchess of the New Mandalorians. Unofficially, she was trying to make his assignment a lot more, um, personal."

Jango was suddenly _very_ interested. "I knew he guarded her for a while, but they were involved?"

Nodding, Tovari confirmed, "For a few months. They were _really_ not well suited to each other, but I guess there was a bit of lingering childhood crush involved." Her grin widened and she aimed it squarely at Jango. "Not that _you_ would _ever_ have a problem with that?"

_Cabur_ Jango had never struck Zohli as being the jealous type, and it definitely wasn't jealousy that crossed his face for a moment; maybe a bit of horror, really, since from what Zoh understood, Duchess Satine was technically usurping Jango's position.

Then his eyes lit up and he grinned back. "Oh, I like you. We're gonna have to keep in touch."

Boba finished licking sauce from his hands and looked up at his _buir._ "When can we show her?"

Jango popped the last of a pastry into his mouth and stood up. "As good a time as any. I'll be right back," he said, touching Zoh's shoulder with a funny little grin.

Zoh squinted at Boba. "You guys got me something, didn't you?" Boba bounced in his seat in response, his grin covering half his face. Zoh shook her arms, the colourful bracelets clacking and chiming against each other on her wrists. "But I already got presents."

"Mmm this's _special._ Because you're _verd'ika,"_ Boba insisted. Some of the adults near them shushed him, although they were more amused than anything else. So everyone was in on this.

Tovari distracted her. "You've been with Scogar a while, right?"

"Almost four years." Zoh rolled her eyes fondly. "He'll say he doesn't know anything about being a parent, but he seems to be doing a better job than my birth parents did. I barely ever saw them except for progress reports from my tutors. It's nice to have someone who _wants_ me to be part of their life, you know? He was even willing to let me leave when I turned thirteen Standard, if I didn't want to stay."

The woman nodded. "Some parents just can't see their kids as being people. Scogar's not like that. I think he really needed someone to take care of. But don't tell him I said so," she added in a loud whisper with a wink, and Zohli laughed.

"Hey, Zoh. Come on up here." Jango was standing at the railing on the first balcony level, holding his hands behind his back.

Zoh groaned as she got up and swung her leg over the bench; everyone was being so dramatic today! As soon as she reached him, her _Cabur_ pulled one hand from behind his back, revealing a lidded jar full of tiny folded flashpaper stars.

"Firstly, a trader tradition. Each star has a wish for you from one of your _aliit._ I've been told that you need to burn the stars to carry the wishes to She Who Watches the Path; we'll do that once it starts to get dark out."

Zoh accepted the jar reverently and hugged it against her chest, grinning down at everyone below. "Thank you!" For a people who'd had next to nothing for so long in captivity, offering wishes was often all they could afford.

Jango waited for the cheerful calls to subside before announcing, "The second isn't really a Mandalorian tradition, but I have the feeling it's going to become one for Aliit Bastra." He brought his other hand out, and Zoh gasped. She bent to set the jar of stars carefully on the floor and reached for what he offered her.

The beskad was sheathed in black leatherette with the same harness rig as _At'tha'_s; the hilt and guard had been blued and buffed to a smooth matte finish that absorbed light. Zohli pressed the release catch and drew it partway from the sheath, revealing the glossy blue-silver of real beskar. She swallowed hard. "But I've never trained with a blade…."

_Cabur_ Jango grinned. "It's from all of us, but particularly your dad. He wants to start training everyone in blade work, including you."

"I'm not-" _worthy_ "-ready for something like _this."_

Ruuli called from her seat below, "Then you will just have to learn!" and everyone laughed.

Jango smiled and rested a hand on her shoulder. "You will be," he murmured, and then staggered half a step back as Zoh surged forward to hug him.

* * *

Tovari returned home to Sundari well after sunset in a bit of an overstimulated daze after only a day away.

To say she had been merely impressed by the place Scogar - Obi-Wan (could he not just choose one name?!) - had put together with his new clan would have been a vast understatement. The compound was large, but subtle rather than marring the landscape. When she'd asked about the visible polyculture, everyone had said it was Scogar's idea; the results prevented the soil from being depleted, and reduced the need for pest control.

And there were _so many people._ She hadn't been prepared for that. Scogar's daughter - she'd known Zohli existed thanks to Feid's infrequent text updates, but never in any real detail - was already taking after her father, and it was thrilling to see. The protectiveness radiated toward her by the man who could only have been Jango Fett was precious; there was definitely something between Scogar and Fett, and while Tovari wasn't certain how she felt about that for her friend's sake, the erstwhile Mand'alor was clearly invested.

The celebration had been a mixture of Northern Mandalorian traditions - namely the food, so much food - and something that was distinctly Clan Bastra. Tovari hadn't known they were all former slaves until Zoh had been presented with the jar of wish stars. At their urging, she'd upended the jar over the courtyard firepit at twilight, the chemicals embedded in the strips of flashpaper burning in different colours and making little flares of sparks, sending fragrant smoke into the air.

_"It's a shame Scogar's not here for this,"_ Tovari had commented. Fett had merely shrugged.

_"Business waits for nobody; if Zoh didn't have exams starting in three days, she'd likely have gone with him. This is the first birthday the clan's had here, where they feel truly free, but there'll be many more soon enough."_

Fett was another factor entirely. He had a _reputation,_ and among the New Mandalorians it was not a favourable one. He was a brutal warrior, vicious and cold-blooded- everyone knew how he'd led his people from the age of fourteen, and how he'd killed several Jedi (the number varied between retellings) with his bare hands. What the stories always failed to capture was the man's simple humanity. He loved his son; he clearly was on the edge of adopting Scogar's daughter outright. And although he was Scogar's partner, he had chosen to leave clan leadership to Scogar's immediate kin, standing in support of Zohli. He knew politics and diplomacy, and had a playful streak that revealed itself when he was at ease among company.

What sort of leader might Fett have been had Galidraan not happened? Would he have been able to unite his Mandalorians against Death Watch; could he have negotiated an arrangement with Satine? Tovari's gut said he could have, provided Satine had given him half a chance.

It was a shame Scogar had been away; she only had herself to blame for not comming ahead. Mercenary work didn't seem to be scarce; not for a competent person with a ship and a crew, anyway. Tovari was glad it was working out for him, even if Satine found it upsetting.

Satine could deal. Despite her insistence, not everyone was suited to the lifestyle of a committed pacifist. Tovari could have told her that about Scogar from the start, but the Duchess had a perplexing blind spot regarding the former Jedi and his obvious inclination to fight in others' defense. Unlike Tor Jiro, Scogar was not content to accept Satine's directive to sit back and claim inaction as the high ground-

Tovari closed the door to her quarters behind her and leaned against it with a sigh. Only the lamp on her desk was lit, casting a warm, diffuse light through the front room. As Ethyne Matsuuri's ward, she'd grown up in the palace, among the New Mandalorians and their philosophy; but that didn't mean she'd come to agree with their point of view. She understood where it was coming from, but if she were really being honest with herself, pacifism didn't suit her any more than it did Scogar. Or her aunt; Ethyne Matsuuri had started her career in service to Duke Arden, who had been friendly with Jaster Mereel whilst measuring his actions more judiciously than the Mand'alor did. The New Mandalorians hadn't always been so vehemently anti-violence: Arden and his predecessors had supported the citizens standing in self defense. Arms and light armour had been kept, if not worn daily, and Mando'a had been more commonly spoken in the palace, not merely something people used to show off how educated they were. The government of Sundari had been merely anti-expansionist for several generations, content to let the North do as they liked.

Then the tragedy of Vizsla's Clan Wars had changed all of that, and when it was over, Satine had pulled in the rug and slammed the door. Sundari's closest ally was now Kalevala.

She had _thoughts_ about Kalevala that were really inappropriate for someone in her position. But it was impossible to be in charge of Sundari's Interstellar Trade Commission without being aware of the history and the bureaucracy that tied Sundari and Kalevala together. It was difficult not to be bitter about it at times.

Tossing her jacket over the back of the sofa, Tovari grabbed her datapad and opened the message application. The least she could do right now was actually let Scogar know that she'd visited before he heard about it from someone else.

* * *

_Reformation Year 981.05.08  
Ylesia_

As a diplomat, the majority of Feemor's missions took him into hazardous territory: wars, border disputes, political succession conflicts. Jedi negotiators were only ever summoned when all other avenues had been exhausted - or if one party suspected the other of plotting foul play. He had starved in trenches, been poisoned more than once, slept on bare floors, and fought three duels in the name of someone's honour.

He had never been required to clean a t'landa Til's 'fresher. His eyes watered from the reek, and he didn't dare to think about what he was touching as he scrubbed the basin with the simple sponge he'd been issued.

The treatment of the pilgrims here, on its own, would be sufficient to report the operation. Feemor had visited the Temple of the Whills on Jedha, where the adherents performed their own chores rather than leaving the work to droids. There was something to be said for working together with one's fellows in common purpose for the good of the community; what was practised on Ylesia was not that.

The t'landa Til who ran the operation, and the Hutts who treated Ylesia as a holiday resort, resided in opulence, served by the pilgrims. All the cooking, cleaning, maintenance, and frequently, _litter-bearing,_ was done by people who had arrived here seeking enlightenment and meaning in their lives. The pilgrims' diet was restricted, and definitely did not provide sufficient calories to support the hard physical labour they were expected to perform. Existing on the brink of exhaustion made most humanoid sentients highly suggestible and reduced one's ability to think clearly. It made them more susceptible to the Exultation.

Feemor thrust the sponge into the bucket of cleaning solution; the pungent liquid sloshed and stung in the micro-cuts on his bare hands. He'd endured two Exultations now, and his head pounded sickeningly at the memory. At the end of each day, the pilgrims gathered at a pourstone edifice called the Altar of Promises, where High Priest Teroenza would preach a bit about oneness and visions he professed to have, a litany was said, and then Teroenza or one of his other priests would perform the Exultation. The t'landa Til's soft throat sac would inflate with air and then vibrate at frequencies beyond the range of human hearing; Feemor had done his research on the species, and academically knew that this was little more than the male t'landa Til's mating call. The frequencies, however, affected humanoid brainwaves, and the people surrounding Feemor reacted as if they had been dosed with a fast-acting narcotic drug. The pulses battered at Feemor's shields, and it was all he could do to pretend to react positively whilst not vomiting up what little he'd been given to eat at the evening meal beforehand.

It was a primal manipulation of the Force as well as sound; to a t'landa Til female, the pulses were the equivalent of a lovely song or pleasant perfume. Both times had left him feeling like he'd received a concussion; only his own physical exhaustion and a few minutes of surreptitious meditation whilst pretending to pray had allowed him to sleep at all.

The whole operation was insidious. Feemor had learned from talking to some of his roommates that once a pilgrim had been around a few months, and had good references from the "Sacred Ones" - the t'landa Til and the Hutts who visited - they might be chosen for the sacred duty of working in the factory, where they could sit in relative comfort, wrapping medicine.

From the description, the "medicine" in question was raw glitterstim, likely shipped in from Kessel for processing. The pilgrims had to work in complete darkness to prevent the minerals from activating and losing their potency; they were issued special goggles which allowed them to see what they were doing. The job might have been seen as prestigious, but glitterstim fibers were too brittle to wear even the thinnest hand protection; the pilgrims who had been in the processing facility the longest were showing signs of a low-level addiction from the splinters that sliced their hands and got into their bloodstream.

It was horrifying, and Feemor's only goal now was to steal a comm from a guard and see if the Master of Shadows' contact would be able to get him off the planet and back to civilisation.

He finished scrubbing, emptied the bucket down the drain, and hauled himself to his feet, his knee complaining from the abuse of having to kneel for several hours. He couldn't even draw on the Force to soothe the ache, because he didn't know whether the t'landa Til could sense it.

There were voices approaching from outside, and as Feemor emerged into the larger bathhouse, one of Teroenza's subordinates passed, leading a group of guards and some rough-looking mercenaries. Feemor tucked himself back against the wall and bowed his head the way the pilgrims did, surreptitiously looking for an exposed comm unit he could palm.

The old Togorian female he'd seen before; she was a bodyguard for this particular priest. Following them and apparently listening intently as the priest extolled the virtues of the operation was a big man who looked similar to a Nautolan, save the fact that he had nostril slits in place of a nose - _Feeorin,_ Feemor's memory supplied. They were rare in the larger galaxy; the species had been pushed to the brink of extinction after the destruction of their homeworld thousands of years before. The other mercenary was a Mandalorian in green armour, and Feemor's spine stiffened a little at the sight. Never mind the risk he was currently running as a spy - because he _was_ spying, here - Mandalorians had little love for Jedi. If they found out who he was….

He could have sworn that for just a moment the Mandalorian looked straight at him. Squeezing his eyes shut, Feemor reached for calm. Mandalorians deserved their reputation as competent mercenaries; this one was merely checking everyone they saw. It wasn't personal. And if they noticed Feemor's tension, well, more than one pilgrim had come to Ylesia to evade a price on their head.

He chanced a glance at the group. The final guard at the rear was bored and inattentive; it was a simple matter to ease the comm off its clip on the back of the man's belt with a tug of the Force. The shapeless pilgrim robes had deep pockets for carrying tools around, more than large enough to conceal the stolen comm.

The opportunity to use it didn't arrive until after dinner, when there were a few minutes to wander the place that was called a "garden" - really a slightly tamed stretch of the jungle between the mess hall and the Altar of Promises. Feemor tucked himself behind a large bush with pink flowers that stank like sewage, pretending to pray whilst carefully plugging in the number he'd memorised.

It was answered almost immediately. _"I don't recognise this comm code, which means either you're selling something, or someone I trust gave it to you."_ The voice sounded like it belonged to a humanoid; the accent was eerily familiar. _"Who is this and what do you need?"_

During his hours spent scrubbing, Feemor had composed a message in his head. "A friend gave me this code to use if I'm in trouble, and believe me, I have a high bar for what I consider 'trouble'. I'm undercover, investigating a slave operation, and I have my intel, but I can't get offworld without help. I don't know who I can trust here."

There was a pause and a sigh from the other end. _"This is… not an ideal time. Where are you, and how long can you hold out? I might be able to send someone."_

"Hutt space, a planet called Ylesia. Security is tight here-"

_"Ylesia? Really?"_ They sounded alarmed. _"We're on Ylesia, investigating a cult."_

The rush of _relief_ almost knocked him over. The Force was with him. "We're probably at the same place, then. Look, I'm undercover as a pilgrim, I don't have a lot of opportunities to meet anyone who isn't also a pilgrim, but-"

_"I have some freedom around here. Meet me at this time tomorrow. There's a big _tovowen _tree to the right of the gate-"_

The tree in question was ancient, its long boughs sagging under their own weight nearly to the ground. The evening shadows underneath would provide some cover. "I know it. I need to ditch this comm, but I'll try to steal another later."

_"Don't take unnecessary risks, friend. We'll talk tomorrow."_

The surge of hope kept Feemor going even through the miserable headache the Exultation brought on, and the next day seemed to drag interminably while he shuffled from place to place polishing gaudy trophies and artifacts on display around the priests' residences. He had enough background in archaeology to recognise several pieces that were clearly stolen from their cultures, and several more that were carefully crafted fakes - not that he would ever inform the t'landa Til.

By the evening meal, he was ready to vibrate out of his own skin. He inhaled the bland meal they'd been given - vegetables boiled to within an inch of their lives and a steamed protein cake with the consistency of soft cheese - only just remembering to slow down so as not to draw attention. The sinking sun made long shadows on the spongy moss that covered the open ground beyond the wall, and Feemor stepped aside from the cluster of pilgrims on their way to the Altar of Promises, acting as if he had a pebble caught in his sandal.

The _tovowen_ tree with its thick, rubbery fronds was just far enough from the gate that a soft-voiced conversation wouldn't be overheard, and Feemor ducked under the low-hanging branches.

Someone was already there, and as Feemor's eyes adjusted to the deep shade, his heart caught in his throat.

It was the Mandalorian.

* * *

Obi-Wan hadn't even been on Ylesia a full twenty-six hours before deciding the place was vile. Karrrkal had arranged an introduction to Priest Haskatil, the t'landa Til she was currently serving as a bodyguard, and the priest's immediate greed and vanity - the idea that he might be the only one on the planet with a _real Mandalorian_ guard, and the prestige that suggested - had been almost nauseating. Haskatil was mid-level in the pecking order, with aspirations above his station, and the t'landa Til valued appearances almost as much as the Hutts did.

The urge to grab Nym and Karrrkal and call for a pickup had been powerful, but Haskatil had been eager to show off in front of his peers, escorting 'Gren' and 'Mando' around the cult compound and preening. They had the opportunity to see the full extent of the operation, including the workhouse, and Obi-Wan had his helmet recording _everything._

Haskatil had insisted they bracket him while he dined with the other priests, but immediately thereafter both they and Karrrkal were dismissed.

"Is time for Exultation," Karrrkal explained on their way to the barracks in Haskatil's villa for dinner. "Guards not welcome at Exultation, is unpleasant anyway."

"I need to see it," Obi-Wan said quietly, and she nodded understanding.

"In half hour, I take you. You turn off outside audio on bucket, yes? I plug ears." She pulled a plasfiber box from a pouch on her bandolier and rattled it. "Make sick otherwise."

In keeping with his cover as a strict traditionalist, Obi-Wan got to take his meal alone in the small bunkroom Haskatil's majordomo had assigned to him. The food was pretty good - Haskatil had boasted about acquiring a decorated chef for his staff - and he'd nearly finished eating when his comm chimed.

His _personal_ comm. Obi-Wan squinted at the incoming code before answering, "I don't recognise this comm code, which means either you're selling something, or someone I trust gave it to you. Who is this, and what do you need?"

And then things went from complicated to difficult. The number of people who even had his personal code could be counted on two hands, and most of them knew better than to share it. The people who might do _that_ were limited to Quinlan, Siri, and Bail Organa, and the caller's admission to being a spy confirmed that.

The fact that they were also on Ylesia and already embedded as a pilgrim meant he could remove the Senator from that list - there was no way Organa could have got someone there so quickly. Which meant the spy was likely a Jedi, and Obi-Wan wasn't quite sure how he felt about that. But the man sounded desperate and a little strained, and Obi-Wan wasn't inclined to just leave someone in this stinking pit if he could help it.

He told Nym and Karrrkal later, when they were on their way to see what the Exultation was about, skirting around the outside of the compound walls through the soggy jungle.

The older woman snorted. "Impressed Jedi send anyone here. No Republic influence in Hutt space. What would Jedi do?"

"There's two possibilities," Obi-Wan answered with a shrug. "They bring it before the Senate, a committee is formed to go over the collected evidence, and then Republic contacts the Hutts and demands an inspection of the operation here, but _only_ if they can find evidence that the pilgrims or spice are being sent into Republic space. Otherwise? It's more likely the Jedi might petition the Senate for sanction to act independently. They'd send envoys to the t'landa Til, the operation would be swiftly buried and transferred to another location, possibly someone would attempt to assassinate the Jedi envoys-"

"Someone like Mandalorian bodyguard, hmm?" Karrrkal gave him a knowing grin that bared a lot of sharp teeth.

"I'd rather be long gone from here before it gets to that point. Not because I don't think I can take on a pair of Jedi, but because I know I _can._ And in this case, I'd rather help them out than fight them."

"Hrmm." Karrrkal ducked low and led them through a clump of flabby undergrowth to the edge of the treeline overlooking a sort of amphitheatre carved into the gentle slope of the hill. "Think it past time this get shut down."

At the bottom of the basin was a pourstone dais and a large structure designed to amplify the speaker's voice. The amphitheatre was filled with pilgrims, while High Priest Teroenza paged idly through a thick book of actual flimsi propped on the lectern. What followed was a fairly basic religious sermon, even if Obi-Wan cringed at the philosophies the priest was spouting - underneath the flowery language, it was a shallow sort of spirituality that rang hollow in the Force. The pilgrims believed in it, but their priest clearly did not.

At Obi-Wan's side, Nym grumbled, "They really believe this shit?"

"People who are desperate to find meaning in their lives will accept anything that makes them feel special," Obi-Wan murmured back. "Everything about this setup is designed to take advantage of these people, wear them down until they're utterly dependent."

Karrrkal's solid elbow knocked against his pauldron. "Time. Ears off." Nym shoved the plugs she'd found for him into his ear-holes, while Obi-Wan turned off the external audio feeds for his _buy'ce_ and focused on the currents in the Force around them.

He had enough experience to recognise the feedback between preacher and congregation: similar to the flow between a teacher and students, but striking on a deeper level. What the Exultation did, however…. He knew what it was, what Teroenza was doing with his species' mating call. It was a cheap trick, but it was taking the feedback connections with the pilgrims and _cannibalising_ them; using the pilgrims' trust and tractability to alter the pattern of their brain waves. The monitoring package in his HUD was registering ridiculous aural frequencies, and from the way both Nym and Karrrkal were pressing their hands to their temples, it wasn't nearly as pleasant as the pilgrims thought it was. At least, not without the sound component.

It was a triple-pronged psychic assault. Obi-Wan had been witness to many horrible things in his life; this particularly reminded him of the Re-Learning Circle on Kegan, where non-conforming youth were subjected to a battery of brainwashing techniques to enforce compliance. Except the pilgrims of Ylesia were here of their own free will, seeking something better from life, trusting in the priests to help them, and the cult of The One And the All brainwashed them into slavery.

Something ice-cold had taken root in his chest; Nym looked at him sharply, so some of it must have shown in his posture. The Exultation wasn't over - Karrrkal had said it lasted about five minutes - but Obi-Wan had seen enough. He backed into the undergrowth and stalked away. It was no longer enough to simply sour the Trade Federation's relations with Teroenza: the operation needed to be shut down, in such a way that it could never start again. Putting a blaster bolt between Teroenza's eyes would be little more than vengeance: momentarily satisfying, but ineffective against the greater problem.

A big hand caught his arm, and Obi-Wan swung around with a vibro-shiv already in his hand before he realised it was Nym trying to get his attention. He turned his external audio pickups back on.

"-okay? You look like you're about to murder yourself a t'landa Til."

"Murder is too kind," Obi-Wan grated through clenched teeth.

"I'm with you, there." Ire seethed in Nym's eyes. "Are we changing the plan, then?"

"I'm going to dismantle this place piece by piece if I have to." Obi-Wan paused, breathing through it. He could be furious and calm at the same time; fury alone wouldn't get him a workable plan. "There's a Jedi spy among the pilgrims I have to meet. I'll see if I can't get them to agree to more drastic measures than simply getting offworld. In the meantime, we play along with Haskatil, see if we can't get access to their business records and make copies. We need as much hard evidence as we can possibly get, as quickly as possible."

"Can help with that," Karrrkal announced quietly as she came up behind Nym. "Have access codes. Not mine," she added with a grin. "Credits here good, but not better than knowing Mand'alor lives. I go with you, yes?"

Obi-Wan nodded. "You'd be welcome. Come on, we need to do some planning. And we need intake records."

By the time Obi-Wan was sneaking off to meet a Jedi under a tree the next evening, they had a workable plan and a rough time frame. The rest would depend on what the Jedi had to say.

He didn't have to wait for long: a tall, lanky blond human ducked under the branches and rubbed his closed eyes to force a quick adjustment to the deep shadows. The surge of fear the moment he saw Obi-Wan in full beskar'gam was unfortunately predictable; Obi-Wan chose not to give them time to panic.

"Hello there. We seem to have a mutual acquaintance who likes to hand out comm codes."

The Jedi's eyes went wide. "The Master of Shadows has a _Mandalorian_ on speed dial?"

Well, that answered a few questions. Obi-Wan wasn't entirely certain how he felt, knowing the most mysterious of the Senior Masters had enough interest in his life to give out his personal comm code to a Jedi going undercover. But whoever they were, they clearly preferred a hands-off approach he could appreciate. "I doubt they know I'm Mando'ad, we've never met. I'm surprised they even know I exist. But there's only three people who could have shared my comm with them, and they're all Jedi I've worked with before. Does that soothe your doubts, _al'jetii?"_

The Jedi squinted at him suspiciously. "Depends which Jedi."

He seemed to be several decades older that Obi-Wan, so Quinlan and Siri's names wouldn't mean much. That left… "Nejaa Halcyon."

The Jedi sagged with relief. "I know him. He's a complete bastard."

"He really is. His son's dating my _vod,"_ Obi-Wan added, just to gauge his reaction.

The Jedi's eyebrows shot up. "Valin isn't possibly old enough for that already, is he?"

Obi-Wan grinned; the conversation was having the right effect, reassuring the Jedi that _this_ Mandalorian, at least, wasn't interested in hurting him. "He made Knight not too long ago."

The Jedi rubbed his forehead. "How time flies. _Ni_ Feemor Okarr."

The name rang a faint bell, and Obi-Wan resolved to look that up later. _"Ni_ Scogar, _aliit_ Bastra. I'm guessing you're here on behalf of the Order. What do they intend to do about this place?"

"That's the problem, isn't it?" Feemor folded his arms, scowling. "I'm a diplomat, not a spy. The Senate can't do much more than give Teroenza a metaphorical slap on the wrist in terms of his business deals. Judicial has no jurisdiction out here. The Order might come shut the place down, but odds are high it'll just start again somewhere else, and switch to using middle-men for their financials."

Obi-Wan nodded. "That's about what we assumed the situation would be."

Feemor cast an appraising look at him. "Surprising. I wouldn't expect a mercenary to know that much about Republic politics."

"It's a hobby. So the long term is a mess. What's your short term goal?"

"What I care about most is the people - and finding out if they've sold anyone else, and to where. And then getting offworld with that information before they know I've got it." The Jedi smiled awkwardly. "You might have better luck finding that information than I would-"

"I already have it. We sliced their files last night." At Feemor's stunned reaction, Obi-Wan gave a dry laugh. "We rescued some of their victims and came in looking to shut the place down. Unfortunately, this is now the biggest glitterstim processing location in the galaxy, since Nar Shaddaa's industry came under new management. If we scrub the place off the map, it creates a power vacuum that someone worse might fill."

The older man ran his hands back over his hair. "Either way is a straight drop to Hel. I don't know about you, but I'd almost prefer to take my chances with the power vacuum. What they're doing here is obscene."

The power vacuum was the problem, but Obi-Wan had some ideas about that. Not that the Order needed to know. "I'm with you on that front. So here's the plan: I have some friends with me here. We're going to stage a hit on this place, make it look like private mercenary action to rescue a couple of high-class pilgrims. There's royalty hiding here, did you know that?"

"What? No!"

"Indeed." They'd uncovered that particular tidbit by comparing the pilgrims' intake names and HoloNet searches. "Their families are offering a lot of credits for their return. So we'll use that as a distraction. I'm collecting as much data on their 'Exultation' as possible, and I'm going to send that to a few journalists, generate some bad press to counteract the cult's public image. If you can find some pilgrims here who seem conflicted, who haven't fully bought into the lies and would be willing to make in-person interviews, so much the better. I'd do that myself, but…." He gestured to his full beskar'gam, and the Jedi nodded in understanding - a fully armoured and masked Mandalorian looked threatening even when asleep. "Your Jedi can do… whatever it is you do for the people in these situations, and my people will see to making sure the economy doesn't collapse on the vulnerable."

Feemor was squinting at him again. "Why do you care so much, Bastra?"

Shrugging, Obi-Wan said, "Because I prefer to leave _less_ suffering in my wake rather than more. Plus, this is a bit of unfinished business. I didn't consider that aspect when we took Krayn out a few years ago, and while I won't take responsibility for others' actions, we probably strengthened the Ylesia operation as a result."

"That was you?"

"In part. How did you think the Master of Shadows got my comm code?" Obi-Wan hesitated, remembering Siri's reaction to some of what they'd had to do, Nejaa's response to his idle machinations on Corellia. "I generally have my own way of handling matters, but… for the sake of cooperation, is there anything you'd prefer I avoid? I can't make promises, but I can make an effort on your behalf."

Feemor's lips twitched, and he said, "I'm surprised you didn't say you would _try."_

_Master Yoda strikes again._ Obi-Wan snorted. "That word has too much baggage attached to it."

"It really does." The chime of a bell from the amphitheatre marked five minutes before Exultation, and the Jedi sighed, "I'm not sure how much more of this I can take. Two requests. One: please don't kill anyone. As tempting as it may be, they should face justice."

"Master Jedi, you know as well as I do that true justice rarely touches the powerful." It had been a hard lesson to learn, and Obi-Wan had learned it young.

"Death is not justice, regardless of whether they've had a trial or not," Feemor said firmly. "And secondly…. Let's not drag this out longer than necessary? I'd very much like to go home."

Obi-Wan laughed humorlessly. "Trust me, _al'jetii,_ the longer we're here, the higher the risk of me killing someone gets." He reached into one of his pouches for a small case. "Before you go, this is a micro comm set. Don't risk stealing from a guard again; the last one was quite upset at his loss."

"You just happen to carry this around with you?" Feemor asked even as he slipped the tiny support wire over the top of his ear. Under his hair, nobody would notice it or the activation button that hid behind his earlobe; the greater concern was the throat pickup, which needed to be in a specific location, but it couldn't be helped. With luck, the man's growing beard would distract from it.

"It never hurts to have a backup." He grinned, letting it colour his tone. "Try not to lose it."

"If it's lost, it had nothing to do with me."

More likely a guard would remove it from his person. But Feemor was no stranger to subterfuge, and Obi-Wan had the deep, lingering feeling that he could trust the man. _"Ret'urcye mhi,_ Feemor. We'll be in touch."

The Jedi smirked and had enough nerve to wink before scuttling out from under the tree. Obi-Wan waited a few more minutes before returning to Haskatil's villa, where Nym and Karrrkal were waiting in his bunkroom.

"Is he onboard?" Nym asked as soon as the door was closed.

"He is. Time to make another call," Obi-Wan replied. He dug the comm scrambler out of its hidden compartment in his bag and set it on the bed. Roz was going to be so thrilled with this one.

* * *

.

* * *

**Mando'a translations:**

_Briikasë gotë'tuur_ \- happy birthday

_al'jetii_ \- Master Jedi

Ni - literally "I". A short, casual way to introduce oneself

_Ret'urcye mhi - _farewell (literally "maybe we'll meet again")


	13. Chapter 13: Confluence

_Reformation Year 981.05.08  
Saleucami_

Minor hauling gigs around Hutt space paid fairly well; most Hutt-affiliated businesses were hostile to the Trade Federation, and sending cargo out via unaffiliated 'free traders' meant they could avoid import taxes in the destination system. Nothing to see here, just some goods we've acquired here and there, and are hoping to sell. Totally legal.

They fell back on the old standard from their days working with Booster: Feid played the smart face, Pulkka the dumb muscle people would blab around because they underestimated her grasp of Basic and Huttese. Deesix stuck around the ship as additional security, not complaining about the fake restraining bolt this time; it didn't stop the avaricious from making offers to buy the droid, but nobody tried to grab it, either.

The blaster rifle the droid cradled like a baby tooka might have also helped with that.

Feid squinted at the offered contract; the hair on the back of her neck prickled as she strong-armed her expression into perfect professional interest. Cargo plus personnel was not an uncommon offer from a company that wanted to dodge taxes, and Saleucami was a minor economic powerhouse in this part of the Outer Rim - it was a popular waypoint between the Corporate Sector and Hutt space. Bringing them in to Nar Shaddaa wasn't what was setting off her instincts to hand the contract back, unsigned. No, the problem was the _type_ of personnel. Kitthrik and Vand were dressed for the part in clean coveralls and workboots, the ubiquitous blasters hanging off their belts like any sane spacers, but there were too many _concealed_ weapons on them for simple corporate cargo security. And the tattoo on the back of the human's wrist - almost hidden by his sleeve, but it had ridden up when he'd slapped the Twi'lek waitress on the ass - was a black dot surrounded by a larger circle with spikes radiating outwards.

The Iridonian and human were someone's professional footsoldiers, and Feid was willing to bet her left temple horn that someone was Black Sun.

The contract on its own was fine, and there was _no way_ these guys could know about Feid's association with the non-existent Red Sun cartel. Time to test their patience. She gave them a critical eye, trying to channel Scogar's Coreworld scepticism at their rough appearances. "I'm not sure my _Sunflare_ is the kind of ship you boys are looking for. We usually run for smaller businesses, mom and pop stuff, you dig?"

Kitthrik, unfortunately, seemed more than willing to keep going. "I get it. Your ship's your home, don't want personnel who don't appreciate that wrecking things up, am I right?"

Thinking of all Zohli's paintwork on the bulkheads, the decorations strung everywhere, and this pair of thugs stomping around mocking the work, Feid nodded. "My niece is off at school right now, but it's her home too. If any of her paintings gets scratched, I'm making you explain it to an adorable teenager. Her akk-puppy eyes are _lethal."_

Vand was giving her a disbelieving stare, but Kitthrik was grinning with what seemed to be genuine delight. "Kids are the best, aren't they? Got a niece of my own-" he started to reach for his pocket and Vand groaned and smacked the back of his hand against the Zabrak's arm.

"Not the fuckin' baby holos, Rik." He glared at Feid. "Don't get him started!"

Feid - who'd been bracing to flip the table and their drinks into the men's faces - arched an eyebrow at him. Maybe this could work. "Not a family man, are you?"

"Hells, no."

Kitthrik rolled his eyes. "Some people just aren't suited for it. The smart ones know it already," he added with a look at Vand.

"Nice save, Rik."

She really didn't like this, but… turning the job down for no visible reason could earn them extra scrutiny from Black Sun. And accepting it could give her some idea of why Black Sun was sneaking personnel onto Nar Shaddaa instead of using their own fleet. "Alright. Ship rules: you bunk with your cargo, we have that all set up already and people have said it's comfortable. Don't go poking around the ship, we're carrying stuff for other clients in the secured rooms. You have full access to the lounge and kitchen, but my partner does the main cooking - anything with a sticker on it is an ingredient, not a mid-shift snack, unless you wanna risk losing an arm. Any questions?"

They both shook their heads. "Basic rules, then," Vand said. "And here I was afraid you were gonna be a prude and lock us in." He winked, and she rolled her eyes.

"I _am_ a prude, but I know my job and I do it well," Feid shot back. Even if they did go poking, the _Sunflare_ had a good internal security system courtesy of Scogar, Phel, and Deesix. She was also using Scogar's cabin with his blessing, to maintain the illusion of owning the ship and keep an eye on the few personal items he'd left onboard. "Projected travel time to Nar Shaddaa is thirty-two hours, but we can probably shave it to thirty if you're in a rush."

"Nah, thirty-two is good. Your _Sunflare_ must be modified to hells and back, if she's that quick."

It was a shame the one who knew ships was such a sleemo, Feid might have otherwise considered talking to him more. "I've invested a lot in her," she said, and her tone seemed to get across the fact that the conversation was over, because he dropped the subject.

She signed off on the contract, they told her where to go to collect the cargo, and Feid made her excuses before Vand could consider pressing his luck.

* * *

Despite the way the assholes treated her, Pulkka enjoyed playing dumb. The satisfaction of knowing they underestimated her was a large factor. Booster had been the one to introduce her to the concept, and Scogar had helped her polish it. As infuriating as it could be to be treated like a droid, trying to assert herself and establish her own self-worth in the eyes of others had nearly got her enslaved - would have, if a scrappy teenage Dathomirian hadn't bantha-rushed into the group with an unnerving war cry and shot a couple of them.

Whiphid society was very different - individuals were accorded the respect of responsible adults until they proved unworthy. One could not survive the search for a new clan if one was lazy and accustomed to making others carry their load. Away from Toola, people were much more individualistic, and very humanoid-centric. She had seen how Wookiees, Talz, and Gamorreans were treated, and had wanted to avoid that fate, pressed into blood sports or mere labour simply because of her size and strength.

The secret, Feid had told her, small and angry and so adorably protective of someone four times her size, was to figure out who was worthy of proving herself to, and who was not.

Teaming up had been as much for their own safety - Feid's as a young humanoid female, Pulkka's as a large non-humanoid alien, both at risk of capture and enslavement in the Outer Rim - as it had been for the greater ease in finding work. Feid could talk potential employers around much better than Pulkka could; Pulkka made sure they took Feid seriously. A few years later, Booster had admired their cooperation so much he'd offered them both jobs on the spot.

"I'm sick of all this bouncing around. Think five transfers is enough, or do we need a sixth to keep His Mightiness happy?"

The human, Vand, was grumbling as Pulkka hauled their third crate onboard. The crates were labeled as containing medical supplies, but Deesix had confirmed they were all weapons, munitions, and tactical gear. Someone was preparing for a small war. Feid was in the cockpit doing the preflight checks, but she also had Deesix with her, slicing records to find out where their passengers had come from.

Kitthrik chuckled. "It's not paranoia when the Hutts keep track of every ship and crew member that docks in their space. The last thing we need is for them to get wind of the boss' deal- _hey,"_ he barked as he saw Pulkka. "Go easy on that one, don't need the medicine bottles getting smashed."

This crate in particular contained thermal detonators. Pulkka gave him a bored stare and grunted before setting the crate down exactly as she had done with the first two, as if she hadn't understood him. He might treat Feid like an equal to her face, but the regard didn't carry over to the rest of the crew, and he'd had a few disparaging things to say about Feid being Dathomirian when she was out of earshot.

Feid hadn't been surprised about that part. Iridonian zabrak tended to regard their Dathomirian cousins as savages, even when they were both operating on the wrong side of Republic law.

"Hey, hairball, are you listening to me?" He was scowling at her as she secured the crate with magnetic straps. "I said be gentle with that stuff!"

"The cases are padded, Rik, it's not like it threw it. Let the thing work," Vand said, rolling his eyes. "I hope this Ylesia deal is worth all the hassle."

Kitthrik snorted, eyeing Pulkka as she passed them. "It's the first step to filling the hole Grunseit left. He who has the spice makes the rules."

It was unlikely they could read her expressions, but Pulkka was still careful not to twitch. Sounded like someone from Black Sun was making a move; messing with Hutt business was risky, but profitable if one could pull it off. The Hutts did have an appreciation for bold actions, enough that they might be willing to make a deal with someone who succeeded.

She finished loading the last three crates without incident and did a final check on the ground. Nothing had been left behind, and the _Sunflare_ was in good repair now that they'd got the stabilizer replaced. Feid's voice came over the internal comm as soon as the ramp was closed. _"Preflight checks are done and we're getting an exit corridor in a minute. If you gentlemen would be so kind as to move to the lounge and strap in, we can be on your way."_

Pulkka claimed the copilot's seat, checked that the comm light was off again, and growled, "They're both sleemos."

"Of course they are." Feid sounded tired. "They let drop anything interesting?"

"Whoever their boss is, is planning a deal of some sort on Ylesia. I'm betting these two are only part of a small army someone's sneaking through Hutt space. Sounded like a step in a move to get power in Black Sun; something about the spice market."

"Frag it all," her friend muttered. "It's not our job to interfere with that stuff. We're just haulers."

"You _know_ who'd be happy to get involved, though." Deesix sounded smug, and Pulkka snorted; Scogar would absolutely be interested in interfering. "Guess who just found out who these guys work for?"

Their flight clearance came through; Feid waited until they were beyond air traffic range to say, "Well, we are all ears, Dee. Whatcha got?"

"Xizor; the Black Sun one, not the one running Xyrec Arms. Looks like that one's a cousin, actually," the droid mused. "Our passengers started their trip from Ession, in the Corporate Sector. Xizor Transport Systems' main offices are there."

"And the Corporate Sector being the way it is, nobody tracks personnel shifts," Feid said sourly.

"Hmmmmmm. Officially? No." The droid was poking something on its datapad. "Unofficially, every corporate entity tracks their competition. So I found another conglomerate also on Ession, Pakkerd Light Transport, whose corporate espionage team kept a record of what XTS was up to, and a whole bunch of Xizor's personal paramilitary have been quietly shipping out with independent haulers over the past tenday."

Feid laughed. "Seriously? You sliced another corporation to get records on a competitor? That's genius, Dee."

The droid rubbed the back of its head shyly. "It seemed to make the most sense."

Pulkka patted the droid's shoulder gently. "You were right. Are you done with the HoloNet?"

"For now, yeah."

Feid flipped the alert switch for the hyperspace jump and pulled the lever without waiting for a response from their passengers. "Hope they were strapped in properly. Once we get rid of these guys, we need to comm Scogar. They're heading his way."

* * *

_Reformation Year 981.05.09  
Ylesia_

Obi-Wan grinned at the message on his comm and shook his head. Tovari was very contrite about having shown up without warning or invitation; as penance, she'd sent a couple holos capturing Zohli's awed expression when Jango had presented her with her own beskad. He'd felt badly about not being able to be there for his daughter on her birthday, but the urgency around the Ylesia situation had set off all sorts of mental alerts, that aching feeling at his core that time was running out.

Something here was about to break, _badly,_ and soon. If it weren't for that, he and Nym would be more inclined to take their time, work their way in properly. But there was something they couldn't see yet, some factor in play that was about to give the entire situation a dangerous shove.

Finding a Jedi here was an unexpected boon - the man was ill at ease, but adaptable enough to handle things. Not a Shadow himself, although the Master of Shadows clearly had their hands involved in the matter. It was still unnerving to think that at least one high-ranked member of the Order had been looking out for him. Obi-Wan had never met the Master of Shadows, at least not to his knowledge, because only the Council and the Shadows themselves knew the Master's face. This was by design: in the distant past, there had been times when the Order had needed to investigate the Senate and even _itself,_ a task which couldn't be done if the investigator was known beyond a private circle. Calling Nejaa and having the Corellian rogue pass on a message might be a good way to address that. If the Shadow Master had no issues utilising Obi-Wan and was happy to let him work in his own way, he was willing to broaden their association.

The Master of Shadows was likely trying to hunt down Darth Sidious, as well. Unless they were themself a puppet… _no._ That way led to paranoia and despair. Obi-Wan knew he possessed that knowledge, buried safely in his mind, but not the specifics. Before digging it out to share it, he would need a better gauge on the Shadows; which meant working with them and hugging his sabacc cards close until they showed their hand.

He sighed and looked back at the holo of Zoh handling the beskad with reverence, a pang of something that wasn't quite _want_ and wasn't quite _loneliness_ running through him. _Bereft,_ that was the word. For the first time in years, Obi-Wan had an actual grounded _place_ to return to, and he ached from missing it already; he'd awakened that morning expecting the mingled aromas of the shig and spiced breakfast foods their _yaimi'ë_ had introduced them to, and been deeply disappointed when the stench of swamp gas and cheap caf hit him. Force, he was _homesick_ for the first time since becoming Qui-Gon's padawan.

There was still time before he and Nym would be called upon to guard Haskatil. Obi-Wan settled on the floor with his back against the side of the bunk to meditate. He couldn't afford to let his irritation at not being with his clan distract him today.

The garden of his mind was much the same as usual, maybe the slightest bit more lush. The colours seemed a little more vibrant and even the Dark vines seemed somehow healthier without the other plants paying the cost. Obi-Wan hoped that was a good sign. He spent some time cradling the new sprout that represented his home and clan, considering his feelings toward them. It wouldn't do to become so possessive that it choked the plant; neither could he be so removed that it withered from lack of care. So far, the vines had been avoiding it. He'd have to keep an eye on that.

_"Wow, kid, you really do get around."_

Obi-Wan looked up, a delighted grin splitting his face. "Ulic!"

The spirit stood in the middle of the garden, an expression of annoyance failing to hide the happiness on his face. "Took me forever to find you. I don't even know what this planet is called, but it stinks."

"You're telling me." Obi-Wan set the sprout carefully back into its place and climbed to his feet. His friend looked… good. Better. The heavy shadow that had lingered in his eyes was still there, but lessened; his eyes were blue, and he wore spacers' garb several millennia out of fashion. "What was the consensus?"

"As soon as I decided to heal, it was done. But honestly? I'm more _myself_ than I've been in a long time." The spirit took advantage of their presence in the Force to give Obi-Wan a proper hug, firm and tight. "Got yourself some beskar'gam now, huh?" He knocked his knuckles against the breastplate. "Looks good on you. Bet the boyfriend appreciates it even more."

The heat of a blush burning his ears, Obi-Wan pulled a face and swatted at Ulic's hand. "If you must know, he really does." Jango had said as much whilst peeling Obi-Wan out of it in the privacy of Obi-Wan's office.

Ulic grinned. "You two are adorable together. But I can tell he's not here, so something's going down. Fill me in."

His expression darkened as Obi-Wan summed up the situation. "That's ugly, alright. What are you doing about it?"

"The cult records are under tight security. We have access to the pilgrims' original names and, uh, current designations-" the words soured on Obi-Wan's tongue "-but the business records regarding sales to various parties are sealed and will set off an alert if they're sliced." Hutts paid well for professional slicers to secure their data; far more than the Coreworld politicians who ought to know better. "There's four pilgrims in the main database who have safe-return bounties; their families are missing them-"

"You're sure they'll _want_ to go home? Maybe they left for a good reason."

Obi-Wan nodded. "I had thought of that, but we're mostly using that retrieval as a distraction. We'll ask them where they want to go after we've got them safely away. What we _need_ is the sales list - and it's possible our bounties might have been sold and are no longer here, so either way, that's the goal."

Ulic frowned. "At least we can be certain the Hutts wouldn't want to claim those bounties themselves. The pilgrims have seen too much of the operation here and might talk."

"Exactly. Which is what we hope they'll do. That Senator I know has a list of journalists he can drop tips to."

"You know, I'm a little surprised," Ulic said. "Given what I've taught you in the past, this is a very peaceful solution you're working towards."

Obi-Wan bared his teeth in something that was too furious to be a smile. "Oh, I would dearly love an excuse to stick a blade in the 'High Priest's' skull. But I'm not going out of my way to make one. The more complicated a plan gets, the more likely it will fall apart."

As if summoned, his comm went off, drawing Obi-Wan out of meditation. Ulic was still there, an invisible presence at his shoulder as he checked the incoming ID; it was Feid.

"Don't tell me you missed me already," he teased.

Feid sighed. _"I wish that was all it was. We - and you - have a problem."_

* * *

_Ylesia_

Pilgrim 388 struggled not to drop the heavy tray she'd been given; the crystalline bowl in the middle, containing live gorgs sluggish in a pungent alcoholic broth, wobbled dangerously. She would not drop it; the meal and the bowl were both frightfully expensive, and damaging either would lead to punishments like fasting for penance and restriction from Exultation. One of her bunkmates had been forced to pray for a week when he'd exposed part of a pallet in the factory to light, damaging the product; 671 had begun sweating and shaking after the first day, and collapsed after the third.

The Priests said it was because 671's faith hadn't been strong enough. 388 knew better: she had been a medical student, against her family's wishes, and knew what withdrawal symptoms looked like.

Staggering over the rumpled edge of the carpet, she deposited the tray beside a truly massive, ancient Hutt whose tattoos and piercings gleamed in the lamplight. The Hutt ignored her, and 388 counted her lucky stars as she bowed and hurried away. Nautolans weren't nearly so favoured as twi'leks or humans for serving the Priests' guests - even here, species' standards of beauty were a factor.

It disgusted her. Stressed out from an exhausting third year of medical school, she'd taken a break year, to prevent burnout. One of her friends had suggested joining her for a spiritual retreat.

She hadn't seen Luurie - Pilgrim 229 - in months.

At first it had felt good, fulfilling, to spend her evenings in meditation and her days performing simple services around the compound. The Exultation made her feel whole, at peace with the galaxy and her fellow pilgrims. Then Momakara, the t'landa Til in charge of hosting visiting Hutts, had noticed her unusual violet skin tone and demanded that 388 be assigned to serve in the guest houses. After her first week of hell, serving those who behaved quite the opposite from how the favoured were meant to act, having her _ahwey_ tugged and inspected by curious guests, 388 had attempted to flee. She'd chosen the evening before her one weekly rest-day, so she wouldn't be missed immediately, and had slipped away into the jungle when everyone went to Exultation, circling around through the swamps to the spaceport. Independent pilots who lingered were rare, and she'd spent over a day trying to find someone who wouldn't turn her in. All she was able to learn, from the date on the spaceport monitor, was that she'd somehow been there over a year.

The shakes had set in within half a day; by the next evening, she felt drained and dehydrated despite obtaining plentiful water from a public fountain.

Somehow, they had drugged her. 388 had dragged her quivering, exhausted self back to the compound, knowing that her odds of getting offworld safely in that state were slim. More likely she would collapse and wake up with a Pilgrim medic frowning at her, and be subjected to some unpleasant retribution.

That had been four months ago. She'd palmed a set of field testers from the medics and conducted furtive experiments since then, on her food and water, as well as on the water they bathed in once a week. None of it was good quality, and the bathing water was definitely not fit for drinking, but there'd been nothing untoward in any of it.

It had taken her longer than it should have to suspect the Exultation itself.

Attempts to reduce her exposure to it - skipping an evening here and there, standing as far back and to the side as possible, attempting to leave early (which failed because she lost track of time during the ceremony) or arrive late - had little appreciable effect. It was difficult to test a theory properly when failure made your own mind unreliable.

A hand - five-fingered and humanoid - touched her elbow as she hurried back to the kitchen. 388 stopped and blinked at the armoured person who'd been standing as if waiting at the crossing of the service halls. Guests were not allowed back here; they must have been a guard. "Hi. Are you lost?"

The helmeted head tilted, and the guard seemed amused. "I don't think so. Are you Pilgrim 388?"

Her spine stiffened; there were only two reasons any non-pilgrim would seek out a pilgrim by number, neither of them good. "No, I'm 629. Excuse me." She pushed past them but was only a few steps further before they spoke again.

"Iliria Cerren?" They kept their voice blessedly low. "That is your name, is it not?"

She should keep moving. Why wasn't she moving? "What do you want?" Her own voice sounded thin and scared.

"To offer you a way out, nothing more."

Her heart leapt in her chest, even though the situation made her wary of them. It could be a trap; her attempts to reduce exposure to the Exultation might have been noticed. The logical side of her mind sought reason: the Priests didn't care what the pilgrims did, they trusted their addiction to keep the pilgrims compliant. But the fear of punishment was winning. "I'm sorry. I can't." She fled before they could say anything else.

The encounter troubled her through the day; what if they meant it? How would they even know to look for her, unless they had been sent by her family? Her parents were politically powerful; they hadn't wanted her to go to med school, and her attempt to find a year of peace in this hellhole had been spurred by her refusal to return home. The guard might not accept 'no' for an answer… but it was also a guaranteed way off Ylesia. And she did want to leave, right?

A few hours later she saw another guard, who looked vaguely nautolan but was not, speaking to a Pantoran pilgrim. The Pantoran - a full head and a half shorter than the guard - backed away, shaking their head. He let them go, only the slump of his massive shoulders hinting at his unhappiness. The guard in full armour appeared at his side and they spoke for a moment.

What were they doing?

"Are you alright?"

The voice so close at a normal volume was startling, and she recoiled. The human pilgrim standing just behind her smiled and held his hands up. "Sorry, you just seemed lost in thought."

388 sighed, glaring at him for having snuck up on her like that. "Those two guards. I don't recognise them."

"Ah. They serve Under-priest Haskatil, I believe. Are they upsetting you? I can walk with you, if you'd feel safer?" He smiled gently; there was something soothing about him, with his blond braid salted with silver. He towered over her, but managed not to loom. "I've spoken with one of them and he seems reasonable, but your feelings are your own."

"You spoke with one? The one with the helmet?" After a moment, 388 accepted the human's proffered elbow and directed him towards her next work rotation.

"The Mandalorian, yes. May I ask what troubles you?"

The armoured guard was a Mandalorian? His armour looked a lot more utilitarian than Mandalorians wore in holodramas. But holo Mandalorians were usually the bad guys, too. She sighed. Telling a fellow pilgrim that she wanted to leave might get her in trouble, but what she dreaded more was for someone to try to convince her to _stay._ Still…. "Can you keep a secret?"

"I keep many secrets. It's why I came here."

Had he been a politician? Or something in government, anyway; it seemed likely from the soft Core accent and the way he spoke. 388 tightened her grip on his arm. "He told me he can get me offworld. I don't… if my parents sent him, I don't want any part of that."

"Ahh. Family troubles." He nodded in gentle understanding. "It's a common concern. What makes you think your parents sent him?"

Maybe he'd been in psychiatric counseling, instead. "They're the only ones who could afford to pay for someone to find me. I was very careful not to leave behind information about where I was going."

"I see. But this is all speculation. You could ask who sent him."

"What's to stop him from lying to me, though?"

The older man smiled kindly. "Trust in your instincts, Sister."

She sighed and leaned against him as they slipped through one of the narrower pilgrim entrances. "That's just the problem, though. I _don't_ trust my instincts. They're doing something to us here, the signs of addiction were clear once I started paying attention. How do I know it isn't the addiction convincing me otherwise?"

"That's the difficult part, yes." He looked thoughtful for a moment. "What's the worst that might happen, if you trust him and he takes you back home against your will?"

Everything within her cried out in horror at the idea of facing her parents' displeasure - _almost_ everything. The quiet, logical voice in her mind told her that her parents could afford to get her treatment for whatever had been done, or that the Mandalorian might even be reasonable and help her negotiate with them. He hadn't tried to force her to come with him, after all. That he seemed to have the Priests' trust suggested that he hadn't just invaded the retreat.

After a moment, she murmured, "He seemed to respect my wishes. Both he and the other guard aren't forcing anyone to talk to them. I might be able to trust him."

The man nodded. "I can stand watch while you speak to them, for your safety?"

388 frowned. "Why do you care so much?"

He grimaced. "Because I'm seeking a way home, too. This place is not what I was told it was."

They arrived at the entrance to the building's laundry hall, and she released his arm. He patted her shoulder gently. "I'm currently assigned at the bathhouses; if you decide you want me to look out for you later, ask for-" he hesitated, clearly caught on the instinct to give his name. "Pilgrim 229," he finished, his lips thinning with displeasure.

"I'm Pilgrim 388," she admitted. It was too soon to trust him with her name. Not yet. He bowed and left. She headed for the alcove where the ledger was posted, all water-warped flimsi, and signed herself in.

Then the meaning of the other pilgrim's number registered and she sagged against the wall as her knees went weak. 229 was Luurie's number. If it had been given to someone else….

Luurie was gone.

* * *

Bastra and his friend weren't making it easy for Feemor to follow up on their distraction/rescue plans. As he'd suspected, all four of the pilgrims were suspicious of them; one declared with absolute sincerity that they had no desire to leave, the other three wanted to go, but not back to where they had been. One of those, a delicate Pantoran who was absolutely wilting in the heat, thought they were testing his resolve.

Feemor hoped that his words of comfort had helped to settle their fears, at least. Bastra didn't want to deal with angry, struggling rescues.

The man could have just stunned them out, instead. His insistence on permitting their free will was surprising, and Feemor appreciated it.

Now if they could just get people to start moving in the right direction-

"229?"

He turned, eyebrows raised politely as another pilgrim bowed to him.

"I'm sorry to interrupt you, Brother, but another pilgrim is asking for you."

Feemor finished placing the cleaning sponges and rags into the disinfector and picked himself up. "By all means."

Pilgrim 388 was waiting for him in the supply room. Nautolans didn't weep in the way humans did, but 'grief-stricken' would have been an apt description. Feemor reached out to her, uncertain whether touch was something the girl needed at the moment; she leaned into him gratefully, arms wrapping tightly around his waist.

"What's upset you, Sister?" he murmured, trying not to draw too much attention. Pilgrims were encouraged to bond, and emotional displays were not forbidden - which had come as one of the few bright points of his discoveries about this place. But Feemor's earlier conversation with 388 could potentially get them in serious trouble.

She tugged him off to one side, among racks of towels and curtains that might muffle their conversation a bit. "229," she whispered. "That was my best friend's number. We came here together. If you have her number…."

The other girl had either died or, more likely, been sold. Feemor wrapped his arms around 388 and held her tightly. "I'm so sorry."

"If… if that Mandalorian could find me here, could he find Luurie?"

Feemor thought of the records Bastra was planning to slice under cover of chaos. "I think you should ask him that. I've only spoken to him once."

"He offered to help you leave, too?"

Technically that was true. "Yes." The admission that Bastra was planning to acquire the business records danced on the tip of his tongue, but he hesitated to offer even that much comfort. Her intentions were genuine, but someone who meant well could still provide information to the wrong person. "Find me at dinner, and we can go speak to him about it."

388 settled and eventually left to return to her shift, and Feemor took a moment when he was working alone to use Bastra's micro-comm.

"Two of them want to ask you more questions, but they don't trust you." For once, he was grateful that the Priests insisted on closing the bathhouse to customers while the pilgrims cleaned. It was already a thankless job, but the pools of heated mineral mud would have been a disaster to maintain otherwise.

_"Understandably. And we have another complication. In the next day or two, you should be seeing a greater influx of mercenary types. They're all Black Sun,"_ the younger man warned, his tone clipped with displeasure. _"From what we've been able to gather, a Black Sun Vigo - likely Prince Xizor - will be arriving personally to discuss doing business with Teroenza. Given the scale of the operation we've uncovered, it's likely Xizor is planning to remove the Hutt oversight entirely. Where that will leave us… I don't know."_

There was a heavy sigh from the other end, and Feemor frowned. "What are you planning, Bastra?" he murmured, trying to keep his voice from echoing in the long hall.

_"Are you certain you want to know that?"_

It was a reasonable question: what Feemor didn't know, he didn't have to report. But a potential invasion or coup would put the lives of everyone there at risk, and possibly end with them all in even worse straits. "At this point? Yes. I can't help you, otherwise."

_"I'm going to kill Xizor."_

Feemor stumbled over an uneven tile. "I wasn't expecting you to be so blunt about it-"

_"What's happening here is vile, but I have an idea to fix things. If Xizor plants his own operation in control first, that opportunity is lost."_

"Do you know what you're getting into, Bastra? Xizor has a veritable army at his back…."

_"He wouldn't be the first Black Sun Vigo we've removed. Just the first we've targeted on purpose."_

The almost offhand way Bastra said it made Feemor's breath catch hard. "There's only _three_ of us-"

_"Eight. Relax. We can cause enough chaos to make it work."_

"Oh, _eight._ We'll be fine, then. There's no way this can go badly." Feemor rubbed his temple, feeling his now-constant headaches spiking. "The more I get to know you, Bastra, the scarier you become. We need to confer, properly."

_"Agreed. If one or both of our potential rescues are amenable, meet us at the same place this evening."_

"'Us'?"

_"You need to properly meet the members of my team who are already here."_

Feemor agreed and signed off quickly before finishing his mopping, grumbling to himself. Bastra had better have a plan, and stop hiding his cards in his beskar'gam.

Not for the first time, Feemor mused at the odd series of events that had placed him on Ylesia at the same time as the Mandalorian and a Black Sun operation. The Force never allowed for coincidence, but was it pushing everything intentionally, or was Bastra merely following the same current that had led Feemor to be there? Even the most insensible were subject to its meanderings, after all.

* * *

_Kessel_

The hub of glitterstim mining was a drab little rock in the heart of the turbulent Maelstrom Nebula. The vast majority of the world was a penal colony used by the varied governments of the Outer Rim to earn revenue on the backs of their criminal class - although what constituted 'law-breaking' so far from the Core differed wildly from Republic standard. Failed insurgents, citizens who couldn't afford their protection fees, slaves who displeased their masters… why kill them when they could be sold to the Yaruba Family?

Over two hundred generations earlier, the Vindon Corporation - the Yaruba's predecessors - had uncovered ancient pre-Republic records and sample data from the planet, and mounted an expedition to 'explore' the unpredictable Maelstrom. Their navigators had carefully mapped the nebula, determined the safest routes, and the Hutts hadn't even blinked at selling off what had been considered a worthless rock; it was renamed Kessel, after then-CEO Kessel Vindon. Vindon's gamble paid off massively with the discovery of the planet's energy spiders; in desperate need of manual labour to retrieve the mineral secreted in the spiders' webs, they offered to purchase slaves and prisoners from anyone who was willing to deal with them, turning the planet into a prison from which none could escape. The few slaves who managed to steal ships quickly discovered that the safe route maps were manually removed from the navicomputers; some turned themselves in out of despair, while the truly desperate attempted the trip anyway and were destroyed by the fluctuating gravitational forces of the nebula's black holes.

Ownership had come and gone over the millennia, management uncontested by the furious Hutts: they couldn't get through the nebula either. Eventually the corporate structure became a monarchial syndicate under Queen Thulsi Yaruba; in an effort to secure immortality for her family name, the Queen decreed that the ruler of Kessel would simply be called Yaruba. Direct management of the mines was given over to a nest of Colicoids, burrowing insectoid sentients who were uniquely suited to maintaining the underground prison system.

And so it remained a dozen generations later. King Yaruba and his people lived a lavish and comfortable life separated from the misery of the prison mines, surrounded by the forests planted thousands of years before by Vindon Corporation's xenoforming initiative to bolster the planet's atmosphere. The palace was a small, self-contained city, and everyone living within was a member of the Family, their needs tended to by droids while they ignored the fact that their prosperity and comfort was created by slave labour and the sale of an addictive substance.

It was, Juula Ohnaka reflected, rather an ideal of luxury.

She checked her appearance in the mirror a final time while Roz's pilots contacted the control center for a Nebula escort. Her beloved ex had produced the scheme of a lifetime, a rare opportunity to undercut the Hutts at their own game. It nearly made up for Roz's little betrayal ten years earlier. Nearly. It was never in one's favour to _fully_ forgive a debt, after all.

Her gown with its trailing loops and strands of beads was immaculate, shimmering with deep reds and yellows; her long braids were coiled and pinned atop her head under a lacy veil. Weequay finery was rarely seen offworld, but Juula knew the best tailors.

And more importantly, she knew King Yaruba.

* * *

.

* * *

**Mando'a Translations**

_yaimi'ë _\- neighbours


End file.
